The Laws of Inheritance
by hushedhands
Summary: Queen America has a very specific request for King Maxon.
1. Chapter 1

She'd been half expecting to trip and fall down these stairs for years now. They were steep, narrow, rickety and poorly lit, and the only time they were used was in panicked, emergency situations. Still, it was embarrassing when it finally happened. She'd been halfway between entrances to the safe rooms when the rebel alarms started blaring, and Avery, the guard nearest her, ran forward, brandishing his weapon, and escorted her at a full out run to the next opening. But America had been in heels, of course, and she'd fallen behind during the run. She needed to seek out physical training, she lamented, because she'd been shorter and shorter of breath since moving into Maxon's gilded cage three years previously. She was out of shape.

So Avery, brave and dutiful, reached back and took her by the arm, pulling her with him the rest of the way to the safe room entrance. There were loud, crashing sounds coming from the hallway, and America thanked any deity listening for men like him. Men who ran, with weapons brandished, towards the rebels, to defend the Kingdom. The door to the safe room swung open, Avery shoved America inside, and slammed the door closed behind her. She was safe, and Avery was running toward the now clearly audible gunfire.

Avery had been perhaps a little overly enthusiastic in his saving of America's life. With that push into the safe room, she toppled down the steep, narrow, rickety, poorly lit stairs and landed hard on her shoulder, right at Maxon's feet.

"America!" he exclaimed, surprised. "Are you alright?"

"Fine." she said, through gritted teeth. Her shoulder burned, but it would fade quickly. She needed a minute, maybe thirty seconds, and the pain would start to subside.

He knelt down and gave her a hand up. "Did you trip?"

"I was pushed." she shouldn't have said it, she immediately regretted it. The pain had been distracting her, or she would have thought better of this attempt to salvage her pride. Everyone knew she was clumsy, anyway. It wasn't as though pretending to have tripped would have damaged the Queen's reputation any further.

"Who pushed you?" Maxon asked, gravely.

"It was an accident." America insisted, straightening out her dress. Her shoulder still burned. If there had been anyone else in the room, she'd have busied herself with them. But she and Maxon were all that was left of the royal family, and they were the only ones left to occupy the main safe room. It was one of the very few times when she missed the Selection enough to wish that some of the other girls were with them. Even if it meant her husband having to go pretend to flirt with a few of them for a while, it would be better than the anger in his eyes right now.

"Who pushed you, America?"

"A man who also happened to be saving my life." she said, stoutly.

"A guard?"

"It was bad timing, Maxon." America said, going over to the nearest cot and sitting down. "I was in between two safe rooms without easy access to either. That's why it took me so long to get down here. A guard, I won't tell you which, ran me to safety, got me through the door, and proceeded to rush into battle to defend your life and mine."

He narrowed his eyes at her. "If I promise not to be angry—"

"You're already angry."

"They are _not _supposed to push you, America, and they know it."

"He got overly excited in his zest for protecting me from gunfire. Give that man a medal."

"Maybe I would if you'd tell me who it was."

She sized him up. "I won't."

"America." he said, exasperated.

"In a couple of days, I promise." she said. "Not while your adrenaline is still pumping, my love." she'd added the last endearment as a reminder. They weren't supposed to have fights down here. The safe room was for cherishing each other only.

Maxon sank down next to her and nodded. "Fine. Let me look at it?"

"At—"

"The shoulder you fell on."

"How did you know?" She'd done her best not to gesticulate to it, she didn't like adding more worries to his already heavy load. Not for something silly like a jammed shoulder.

He gathered her fiery red hair in his hand and let it fall over her far shoulder. "I pay attention." he replied, gently tugging the shoulder of her bottle green day dress down to expose the flesh beneath. It was bright red and already forming a bruise. He pressed his lips lightly to the wound. "Ice." he said.

"As soon as the attack is over." America nodded.

"Would you consent to an aspirin?" he knew her reluctance to medicate. Most of the time, she told him he was overreacting when he tried to force medicine down her throat. It was a result of their different upbringings. America, as a Five, never had access to medical care or medicines. Maxon, as the Prince and sole heir to the throne of Illéa, was, in all likelihood, overdosed all of his life out of an abundance of caution.

"Would it set your mind at ease?" America asked, leaning her nose in to touch his.

"Yes."

"Then I shall." she said, smiling a little.

He chuckled and pressed his lips to hers, punctuating his next sentence with kisses. "Did you really—" kiss, "just use the word—" kiss, "'shall'?" kiss.

America grinned at the memory from their first meeting, "You're a terrible influence on me, Maxon Schreave."

"Does it hurt?" he asked, peeking down her her still exposed skin.

"It's much better now." It throbbed a little, but the burn of first impact was gone. They listened, but it was impossible to hear much through the mostly soundproofed rooms. "Is it bad?" America asked.

"I couldn't tell."

"Violent, though." America said, grimly. "I heard gunshots."

Maxon sighed, tiredly. "Damned southerners." There was no other kind of rebel anymore. The northerners who still wished to be unified and militaristic were now called 'the Militia' and they enforced the King's peace in unstable regions that weren't responding as well to the slow but steady changes in the caste structure.

America nodded, heart aching for her husband, and placed a hand on the back of his neck. "Get comfortable, Maxon. It's going to be a long night, once we're out of here."

Maxon frowned, loosening his tie. "I was looking forward to dinner with you tonight, my dear."

"Don't start." America said, rolling her eyes and kicking off her heels.

"What?" he asked, boyishly. False innocence all over his face.

"Do you know who you called 'my dear' last week? The Chancellor of the German Federation. The only people less likely to be 'your dear' in this whole world might be the rebels. _Might_ be. I still half expect that, when you finally come face to face with one, you'll reach out your hand to shake and make peace and exclaim, 'Good to see you, my dear'." Maxon chortled at this, his honey brown eyes glittering. "You will call anyone 'your dear'. You don't call _me_ 'your dear'." America ordered.

"My dearest love." Maxon offered.

America shook her head at him. "You might be trying too hard." she leant forward and kissed him, then leant back on the cot, lying flat, looking up at the dim ceiling. She moved her bare feet into Maxon's lap. His hands went to work, rubbing her soles deeply, eliciting a heavy sigh of contentment from America, "You're working your way back into my good graces right now."

"This is all it takes?" he asked, amused. "I'm going to start misbehaving much more frequently."

She smiled a little and closed her eyes. She was horrified by the attacks, beyond anxious for the guards fighting upstairs right now and for their families, should any of them perish, but she couldn't stop herself. This was the most time she and Maxon had had together all week. She was glad to have it.

His hands froze suddenly, and he took a sharp breath in. "You're bleeding." he said, unhappily.

"What?" America asked, leaning up. How could she be? She wasn't hurt, except her shoulder, and that hadn't broken skin.

"The top knuckles of your toes are scraped raw, Ames." he said, leaning closely over them to examine them. In the dim light of the safe room, it was hard to see details.

"Oh." America breathed a sigh of relief. She laid back down and closed her eyes again. "That's from my shoes."

"These shoes?" Maxon asked, peering down at her abandoned shoes on the floor, revolted.

"All of my shoes. That's just what they do, honey. It doesn't hurt." she assured him.

"You've rubbed your skin raw in those shoes, how can you say that it doesn't hurt? Did Silvia make you wear these? Or was it Mary?"

America smirked and shook her head, "There you go again, asking me to name names."

"America—" he protested, but she cut him off.

"You think I would betray the women in my employ? Leave them helpless in the face of their King's wrath? They're my shoes, I put them on every morning, I am perfectly capable of wearing other shoes, but I don't. I like the shoes I have."

"You won't wear them anymore, America." he said, firmly.

"You know, though I am happy to defer to your wisdom in certain matters of state, I do not defer to your fashion sense, Maxon."

"You could have others made, custom for your feet. Just as fashionable, but without the blood."

America sighed, but not unhappily. "And you could be a little less protective of me."

He did not reply. He was chewing it over, and she liked that about him. He was listening to her concern, processing it, and attempting to address it. When he spoke, it was not in the voice he'd adopted as King. It wasn't authoritative or firm. It was his young prince voice. He was terribly uncertain and just a little bit frightened. "You're all I have left, America." he said, finally.

She immediately swung her feet over the side of the cot and wrapped her arms firmly around him from the side. He vocalized that particular anxiety every once in a while, and she'd found that it always helped for her to wrap him up in a warm embrace as soon as possible. "And I'm not going anywhere." she pressed a kiss to his cheek. "You're stuck with me."

He smiled a little at this and then, some color returning to his cheeks, leant back against his elbows and said, with an air of false casualness, "You know, if you'd give me heirs, maybe I'd be less protective of you. I'd have other family members to concern myself with."

She chuckled at his cheekiness. "Maybe if you ever made it to bed before two o'clock in the morning, we could make an heir."

"Really?" he asked, looking over at her, eyes shining.

America took a deep breath, "It would certainly improve the odds."

"Well… we're together now." he said, impishly wagging his eyebrows.

America laughed and shook her head, "Maxon Schreave, we are not conceiving the next heir to the throne of Illéa in a safe room during a rebel attack. It's an entirely inappropriate setting."

"Damn it." Maxon sighed. "You're right. That's not how we want to start things off with him."

"Him?" America asked.

"Or her, as our first child may be. But the heir to the throne would be a 'him'."

"Oh, would it?" America asked, raising her eyebrows.

"Of course. You know that." Maxon said, confused.

"Enamored with the patriarchy, are you?" America asked, amused but not pleased.

"What… what does that mean?" It was times like this, Maxon's upbringing showed. His lack of experience with women still occasionally left him with a 'deer-in-the-headlights' look in his eyes. It usually made America want to melt into a puddle, as if she was staring into the eyes of a much younger, more vulnerable Maxon. But this time, she needed to teach him.

"What would be so wrong with a _female_ hereditary monarch, Maxon?"

"You mean… our daughter? To be Queen?"

"Yes."

"Well… it's just… it's not the done thing." he said, simply, with a weak attempt in his tone to end the avenue of conversation.

"Why not?" she challenged, but with sweetness in her voice.

"Because… we just… we pass the throne down through the male line."

"Why couldn't you pass it to a daughter?"

"Because she wouldn't be a male." he said, sensing the danger he was in and looking faintly ready to bolt.

America nodded, sympathetically. "So you believe men inherently more capable of ruling the country than women."

"Of course not!"

"A Queen is an accessory to a King, not a ruler in her own right."

"I never said that!"

"Then why wouldn't you allow our daughter to be reigning monarch after you?" America pressed.

"We don't have a daughter!" he reminded her.

"We could." America said, simply. "And I _need_ to know that she wouldn't lose the rights afforded her by birth because of her gender."

"What do you want me to do, America?" he sounded so weary. He'd had a long week, and she hated to make it longer.

America sighed and kissed his temple. "I want you to amend the laws of inheritance so that our first born child, boy or girl, may inherit the throne. And once I know that we've done everything to ensure equality between our male children and our female children, I think I could be convinced to start producing them."

Maxon was not happy. "You're asking me to change a law as old as Illéa."

"The castes were as old as Illéa, too, Maxon. There's a lot we're changing. We're for equality between castes. And I want us to be for equality between genders, too. We _could _have a daughter, Maxon, and she could be talented if she takes after you. Why would we throw that away just because she'd be a girl?"

Maxon frowned and pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers. "How long have you been cooking up this scheme?"

"Honestly? Since before the Selection."

"What?"

"I've always thought it was ridiculous that princesses were used as political pawns, married off to foreign princes, and only princes could inherit a reigning title. And you know it's glaring, because I noticed it. I didn't give the monarchy more than two glances before the Selection, but during one of those glances, I noticed this."

Maxon had that furrow between his brows. "I'll think on it."

"You can't imagine handing over your crown to a woman?" she asked, understandingly.

"It'd be your crown, my—"

"Maxon." America warned.

"Love. I was going to say love, I swear." he smiled a little again and that brow relaxed.

"You think she wouldn't be strong enough to shoulder the burden?" America asked, resting her head on his shoulder.

That smile faded. "I can't imagine burdening any of our children with this responsibility, but least of all our little girls."

"We'll help them, Maxon. Both of us." she said, leaning in and kissing his lips, softly. "It won't be like your parents. I'm not the type to sit in the Women's room and do needle point all day, and you know it. You knew that going into this marriage, didn't you?" she reminded him.

"Yes, I did."

"Yes, you did." She agreed. "We'll teach them, we'll guide them. They'll come to us for support, for help. We're stronger together."

"Yes, we are." he agreed.

"They'll learn from that." she promised.

He considered her closely, then kissed her lips. "I want my heir, America." he said, with false petulance.

"Well then, you know what to do, your Majesty." America teased.

"You've been holding off all this time, for this?" he asked.

"I haven't been holding off." she shook her head, raising her eyebrows, surprised. "We just... weren't ready." It had taken them years to recover from the sudden loss of King Clarkson and Queen Amberly. The thought of bringing an infant into the world under those messy and tumultuous circumstances was horrifying. But now, despite the still present rebel attacks, King Maxon and Queen America were ruling well together. Two halves of a very important coin. And they were older now, they'd had some time together with just the two of them. America felt ready, and she knew Maxon wanted nothing more than to cradle an infant or twelve in his arms. He wanted a big family, and he wanted it yesterday.

"I'm ready now." he said.

She nodded at him, then started unbuttoning his stiff collar and sleeves. "Give it some thought, sweetheart. I'm serious. I won't raise my daughter as a second class royal. I won't ship her off to marry one of your allies. I won't do it. I won't do it to her, and I won't send that message to the women of Illéa. My children will be equal, each one of them, and the only thing to tell them apart will be their birth order."

Maxon groaned and flopped down on the cot. America smiled at him and snuggled up to his chest, resting her head just under his. He kissed her hair and then said, "You're insufferable, do you know that?"

"I do." she smiled. "I don't know how you put up with me. I feel sorry for you, Maxon."

"All I want is my heir, and off she goes on equality between genders." Maxon pretended to complain. Maybe it wasn't entirely pretend.

"You had thirty-four other women to select from. You made your choice, now live with it." America joked.

He laughed and kissed her. "With pleasure." he said, before kissing her again.


	2. Chapter 2

America had spent her entire day in a serious education meeting with Kriss Ambers, and though it was a topic they were both passionate about, America was feeling the wear and tear by the afternoon.

"Maxon probably thinks we've been swallowed up by our budget statistics." Kriss giggled at the stack of brown folders they were in the process of wading through. "We abandoned him for breakfast and for lunch."

"His Majesty King Maxon could use the time alone for sober reflection." Her words were serious, but her tone was full of gossip.

"Oh, not again." Kriss rolled her eyes. "_Another_ lover's quarrel? Do you two spend all of your time at war with each other?"

"No." America's eyes glittered, "Maxon is terrible at wars. It never takes me too long to unceremoniously defeat him."

When Kriss had left the Palace three years before, she'd been heartbroken. She'd loved Maxon firmly, steadily, unwaveringly, uncompromisingly, and it hadn't been enough. But Kriss had taken her time healing, allowing the dreams she'd had of her future with Maxon to fade. Broken dreams don't hurt as bad once they've faded so that you can hardly remember what they looked like in the first place. And, when she was ready, she had her own kind of Selection.

Suitors lined up around the block for the chance to date Kriss Ambers. Some only wanted her for her fame. Some were in a kind of puppy love with the image of her that had been broadcast into their homes during the Selection. The letters Maxon received from Kriss during that time, which he read in their entirety to America to avoid any of the romantic misunderstandings that had plagued Maxon and America during the Selection, were incredibly friendly and commiserative. Kriss wanted Maxon's advice, as a friend who knew what she was going through. America was unbelievably proud of them both for walking away from their love with a solid friendship. It wasn't an easy thing to do. She had her friendship with Aspen to remind her of that.

And now, Kriss was fairly certain she'd found her storybook ending after all. She was deeply in love with a young teacher at a prestigious private school known for educating the best and brightest Twos, and the occasional Three. They shared, among other things, a passion for education, a love of classical music, a taste for chocolate pudding, and an affinity for a certain redheaded queen they'd both grown to admire.

The gossip magazines had been questioning how long Kriss would wait until marrying the man for months now. Surely he'd have her anytime she consented? Every once in a while they'd publish a ludicrous story about Kriss still being madly, disconsolately in love with King Maxon, and cite that as the reason that she still wasn't married. But America knew better. Kriss was having fun just being Kriss. She was happy with herself and her relationship exactly as it was, and when she was ready to take the next step, Maxon and America would be in the front row at her wedding, sitting right next to her parents, cheering her on.

"So what did Maxon do this time?" Kriss asked, relieved to have something to talk about that wasn't budget related.

"It's not so much what he did, but it's what he's going to do…" America said, vaguely.

"Poor King. What have you got him doing now?"

America sighed. "Just a little, tiny radical social revolution."

"_Again_?" Kriss laughed.

"I know, I know. I know I'm pressing my luck. I'm pressing my luck every which way I can possibly press it." she indicated the folders they were wading through. Their current project should have been more than revolutionary enough to satisfy her, she knew it.

Kriss and America had been talking through funding for a public school system. _Again._ Maxon promised America that, if she could fund it and oversee its implementation, then she could have it. And she _wanted_ it. Maybe Maxon saw it as busy work, or a pipe dream, but America had a shocking tendency to get what she wanted.

"Should I know about this one? Or is it safer if I'm surprised like everyone else?" Kriss asked, warily.

"I'm meddling with the laws of inheritance." Kriss gasped, and America pressed on casually, "See? No big deal."

"America, don't do it."

"I _know_. Believe me, I've read them. I read them all before I ever suggested such a thing to Maxon. They're a sticky spider's web of amendments and ambiguous language and if you tug one thread, it all falls apart. And then, possibly, there's no ironclad way to pass down the throne from monarch to monarch anymore and so then, maybe, there's a slight chance that there's no more monarchy."

"Couldn't you mess around with some other laws, instead? Traffic, maybe? Ooh, you could make it legal to turn your car left at a red light. That would be exciting, wouldn't it? Just messy enough for you, maybe, with the accident reports?"

America laughed. "I swear I'm not stirring up trouble for trouble's sake. This time it's important. It's about… well, children."

Kriss' eyebrows flew up, "Children? …Gracious, is it that time already?" There was a slight tremor in her voice. Maybe the slightest shadow of a regret. America remembered Kriss once saying, during the Selection, that she'd spent time imagining what her children with Maxon would look like. Maybe her arms still ached for them, from time to time.

"Pretty soon." America nodded pensively, to answer Kriss' question. "And buried in the laws of inheritance is the clause that would force me to marry my daughter off to a foreign prince when she came of age. And that's not happening, Kriss. That's _not_ happening."

"But Maxon is excellent friends with the English. And think of the Italians! Maybe it wouldn't be so bad if you weren't sending her someplace hostile."

"And if she didn't love the English? Or the Italians? Kriss, it isn't fair and it isn't right. Our royal men get an elaborate televised celebration of their budding sexuality as they power-date 35 women in the quest to marry for love. Our royal women get traded like cattle. I won't have it."

Kriss sighed, heavily. "I can't argue with that."

"I spoke to him about it a few nights ago, during a rebel attack."

"Oh, America! There was another rebel attack?" Worry covered Kriss' beautiful face and America waved it away like it was nothing. It hadn't been a bad one. No fatalities.

"I told him I wanted the laws amended to allow for the line of succession to include a female heir. So if we have a daughter first, she would inherit Maxon's throne and rule as hereditary monarch, even if she had younger brothers."

"America, that's…" Kriss sighed. "That's not possible."

"Oh? And dismantling the caste system, that's not possible either?" America demanded.

"The leadership of our country is passed down through the male line." Kriss reminded her.

"Oh, is it? Wow, I had no idea. Tell me more about the monarchy that I'm queen of, Kriss." America said, sarcasm oozing from her tone.

Kriss was cowed at once. "I only meant… you have to have a son, America. And he has to become King."

"Maybe I will. But maybe I'll have a daughter first. And I won't have her take a back seat to a younger brother just because she's a girl."

Kriss saw that she wasn't getting very far changing America's mind. "What does altering the line of succession have to do with keeping your potential daughter from being traded to a foreign country? Those are two different battles, America."

"I thought so, too. I was exhausted just thinking about contending with both of those injustices. But, after reading through the laws of inheritance, I realized that any amendment that gave my daughter the throne would empower her to choose her own suitor. Giving a princess that power in one amendment would nullify the stupid clause that would require us to ship her off to New Asia as a continuation of our peace treaty. It's two birds with one stone."

"So if you have a daughter first, she's protected."

"Yes, and then _a__ll _of my daughters would be protected, once princesses are legally the equals of princes. It would be a huge step forward for them."

Kriss smiled a crooked little smile, "'_All_ of them? Just how many are you planning on having?"

America shrugged, blushing faintly. "I come from a big family. Maxon always wanted a big family. He wants to fill these halls with wild redheaded children. We can only pray that they inherit his temperament and not mine, or we'd have a real cataclysm on our hands."

Kriss laughed. "You could sell tickets to that kind of circus."

"I don't think we'd have any choice. Can you imagine the _Reports_?"

"Oh, poor Gavril." Kriss bemoaned.

"He'd love it. It would make for excellent television, a parade of redheaded toddlers climbing all over the cameras and swinging from the lights."

"We'd never have to threaten to invade another country again." Kriss said, brightly. "We could just threaten to send them a pack of your wild children to babysit for a week."

"Its own kind of invasion." America pointed out, still laughing.

Kriss managed to choke down a sip of tea, still laughing at the mental image, and finally she said, soberly, "If you're serious about this, you know you need to call Princess Nicoletta. The Italians have laws on the books you could model your amendment after. Their women have been succeeding to the throne in their own right since their monarchy's inception."

America blinked, stunned she hadn't thought of that before. "Maybe I could swing a little political pressure on the issue for Maxon. Add a little extra incentive? I'm sure the Italians would_ love_ to see Illéa make progress on gender equality."

"Go easy on him, America." Kriss warned. "He loves to give you what you ask for, but this is a big ask. Don't… don't make him feel like a failure, or like he's put his country in danger with the Italians, if he can't swing this one for you."

Kriss was absolutely right. This particular request required a gentle touch. "You're right. That wasn't a good idea. I'll be careful with him." America promised, standing and stretching. Her fine black pants and powder blue blouse were wrinkled from the day she'd had sitting in that chair, discussing logistics. "Let's call if off for the day, Kriss. I need to clear my head before dinner."

"Alright then." Kriss stood and bounced a little on her knees, getting the blood flowing again. Her creme colored frock bore the telltale wrinkles, too. "Oh, before I forget. George asked me to find out if you read his proposal."

"Oh, yes." America grinned at the mention of Kriss' love. "How is _George_? Writing any other _proposals_?"

"Oh, not you, too." Kriss rolled her eyes. "Did you read it or not? … Your Majesty." Kriss added the last part when her question came out somewhat snippier than she'd intended it to. America could see that the intrusive speculation into Kriss' relationship with George was wearing her down. Poor thing. America certainly knew what that was like.

"I read it. I loved it. I want to meet with the both of you to discuss it." Kriss' face was all alight at this news, but America added a stipulation that brought some gravity back to the brunette's expression. "But there's no conceivable way I can sell it until we get public schools off the ground. I can't sell it to Maxon, and I can't sell it to the advisers. Not until we've proven ourselves on this project. So see if that man of yours can put his considerable intelligence to helping us fund public schools, and then we can start looking at his proposal for public libraries."

The proposal really had been excellent. It would require some diplomacy, Illéa needed access to large-scale printing machines found mostly in the German Federation, and they'd need access to texts of books found primarily in England. They'd also need funding, of course, like everything else.

"Right, yes. One thing at a time." Kriss nodded, hardly containing her glee. "But he'll be _thrilled_ when I tell him what you said."

"Good." America smiled. "Oh, and Kriss?"

"Yes?"

"Don't you ever 'your Majesty' me again."


	3. Chapter 3

America was more than ready to see Maxon by the time dinner rolled around. After she'd walked Kriss out of the Palace and into one of the royal fleet of black cars with the crest of Illéa on the side, chauffeured by a fully trained guard no less, America spent the rest of her afternoon roaming the gardens, deep in thought.

She was beginning to regret the ultimatum she'd given Maxon back in the safe room. 'Amend these laws, or no children'? What kind of person does that? She felt like a monster. An effective monster, maybe, because Maxon had certainly been giving her demands top consideration, but a monster all the same.

Kriss really had been right. As tenacious as America was, as much as she coveted getting her way about things, Maxon did not like to be manipulated. He did not like to be told what to do, he'd had quite enough of that growing up with Clarkson for a father. Maxon was King now, and in the end, he was in charge. If he didn't want to amend these laws, then it would never happen. America couldn't push or shove him into giving in to her demands, and it could be harmful to their relationship for her to try.

She thought about when she'd had the most success getting things from him in the past. It was when she'd asked, not told, nor bullied, nor demanded. Simply asked.

She wasn't prepared to rethink her position, but she was prepared to rethink her tactics. America still wouldn't risk bringing a daughter into a system of royalty so clearly and cruelly rigged against women, but maybe blatantly blackmailing Maxon with the family he'd always yearned for was not the best way to get what she wanted. She could be more imploring. Give Maxon a chance to be the hero, right the wrongs, and save the day. He'd appreciate that.

She was ready for him when she sat down in the dining room, and she waited a few minutes after she was served for his appearance, but it never came. It was her turn to be stood up. She supposed this was what she deserved, after hiding with Kriss in the Queen's office all day long, barely pausing for the sandwiches and fresh fruit brought up by Mary.

In fact, it wasn't until late that night that Maxon made his appearance. America was in her room, in an plush armchair by the open windows, reading through a cost estimate for training and placing new teachers into a theoretical public school system. It was astronomically expensive.

"Hm." Maxon said, alerting America to his presence. "I'm not used to seeing that expression on your face, my love. Did you borrow my furrowed brow for the evening?"

He was standing in the doorway which adjoined his room and hers. His tie was loose, his sleeves rolled up, but his hair was in perfect order. So work must not have been too bad today.

"I thought that when I married you, I'd never have to worry about money again. Where it came from, how I'd ever manage to make it last." America sighed, setting aside the report and standing to embrace her husband. "I was wrong."

Maxon had a smile in his eyes that didn't quite make it to his tired face, "So your previous life as a Five trained you well for your life as the Queen?"

"As it turns out, it did." America said, amused at the thought. "And I had the nerve to question you when you told me I'd make a good queen."

"I suppose you've learned a valuable lesson then?" Maxon wiggled his eyebrows at her ever so slightly. "About never questioning me?"

America had to laugh at that. He absorbed the sound like a plant basking in a half a moment of sunlight. "Balcony?" he offered.

They liked to sit out on their adjoined balcony, reclined in their luxurious cushioned chairs, and look up at the sky. If Maxon made it up any time before midnight, and it wasn't the dead of winter, they almost always spent their evenings out on that balcony together.

"I was so hoping you'd say that, and not 'I'm off to another meeting, just came to tell you goodnight. _Mwaah_.'" The last part had been a caricature of the cheek kiss Maxon gave her when he was distracted by his troubles. She pressed her lips to the back of her hand when she made the sound to demonstrate. The rest had been a cartoonish impression of his voice.

"I do _not _sound like that." Maxon objected, opening the door out to the balcony.

"Yes, you do." America grinned, ringing for Mary and then following Maxon out. "I did my impression for the head chef two weeks ago when I was approving the menu for your summit with the German Federation, and he said it was spot on."

"America." Maxon tilted his head to the side, "You're the Queen, remember? Of course our chef complimented your terrible attempt at an impression of me."

"If it was just a show of respect, then why did he laugh so long and so hard?" America asked, raising her eyebrows as she challenged him.

Maxon shook his head, thoroughly amused. "I don't know, maybe he's a sycophant?"

"And maybe you're ridiculous, so maybe my impression of you is spot on?" America laid back in her reclined chair with the air of someone who'd just won an important argument, and Maxon simply laughed at her and took his chair, too, kicking his shoes off and stretching his legs out. They locked hands and looked up at the stars.

Silence. Five whole minutes of silence, easily. Beautiful, peaceful, _normal _silence.

"How was your day with Kriss?" Maxon asked, bringing their joined hands to his lips and kissing America's knuckles. He toyed with her wedding band while he listened to her response.

"Productive." She said, sarcastically. "We found a whole lot of brand new problems we'd never even thought of before."

"Oh no." Maxon laughed, sympathetically. He'd had days like that, America had no doubt. "Any solutions?"

"Not really." America sighed. "But don't you worry about that. I'll figure it out."

"I know you will." Maxon smiled over at her. "Incidentally, now I know how you felt during the Selection; you ignored me all day and spent all of your time with Kriss and I was terribly lonely. I even started to wonder if I was in trouble with you."

America laughed at this. "Well, I was about to propose to Kriss in fit of rage just to show you your place."

"What stopped you?" Maxon laughed, amazed that she was joking about that.

"It turns out, even the Queen can only be married to one person at a time."

"Ah. Darn the luck."

"Yeah. Now I guess I'll just have to be married to you." America pretended to pout, and that's when Mary made her appearance on the balcony.

"Your Majesties." she sank into a curtsy.

"Lemonade, please, Mary." America said. It was their usual balcony order, Mary was quite used to it. "Are you hungry, Maxon?"

"I ate." he assured her.

America turned to Mary and said, with a smile, "Does the chef have any of those brownies from yesterday leftover?"

Mary grinned back, "I'll bet he can find one, for you."

"Just one, Mary." Maxon added. "We'll share."

America nodded, and Mary disappeared, leaving the balcony doors open behind her.

"Maxon Schreave." America poked Maxon's ribs and he laughed, a ticklish response, "Haven't I taught you anything?"

"What did I do?"

"Never invite yourself to share a lady's brownie." America scolded. "If she wants to share with you, she will. And if you want a brownie so badly, get your own."

Maxon laughed at her. America could never be entirely sure, but she hoped that Maxon laughed more with her than he would have if he'd married any of the other Selection candidates. She liked to think that he did.

"Any word about that rebel attack?" America asked, returning her hand to Maxon's, and lacing their fingers together.

His thumb stroked hers softly as he pondered his response. "They're better funded now than they've ever been before."

"Better funded?" America asked. Then she sighed deeply, understanding landing heavily on her shoulders. "Twos?"

"Loyalists." Maxon said the word with a great amount of distaste.

"Loyalists?" America asked. She wasn't familiar with the term as it applied to their conversation.

"That's what they're calling themselves. They consider themselves 'loyal to Illéa', which is to say, loyal to my father's Illéa. Loyal to Gregory Illéa's Illéa."

"Loyal to the caste system and nostalgic for the days when Eights wandered the streets, starving to death and homeless?"

"That's right."

"Let me guess, they miss the New Asian war?"

"As a matter of fact." Maxon nodded.

"They don't like the peace treaty you negotiated? Think we could have strong armed more resources from New Asia?"

"Were you hiding in the corner during my security briefing today, love?" he asked, but it was a grim attempt at humor.

"I suppose it's not so surprising. We were expecting pushback. Even violent pushback."

"Still, a well-funded rebel army with the specific agenda of overthrowing the monarchy is not exactly what I was hoping for."

"What were you hoping for?" America asked.

"Maybe just some strongly-worded complaint letters?" Maxon shrugged, joking weakly. He went thoughtful after that, though. Silence fell like a hammer.

"Maxon?" America called him back.

"Hm?"

"You are a _great_ king. Not 'good', nor 'wonderful', but 'great'. You have greatness about you, do you know that?"

"I don't think I have." he shook his head softly.

"You _do_." America insisted. "And I'm proud of you. I love you, and your people love you. And you are a great king."

Maxon absorbed her words in their entirety before replying, "I wouldn't be half the king I am today if it wasn't for you, America." he said, genuinely.

America smiled over at him as he planted a kiss on her wedding ring. She joked, "It's hard to argue with that. I'm pretty wonderful."

"Great." Maxon corrected her, gently. "You are a great queen, America. Illéa is lucky to have you."

Maybe that's what being in love was. Seeing greatness in each other, no matter what. But maybe, in this case, the greatness really was there.

They looked up at the stars and America ended up sliding, as she often did, into Maxon's chair with him. She couldn't even pretend it was because of the chill, this time. It was still very early spring, but this Angeles night was as warm as sweet July.

Mary brought the tray out with a pitcher of fresh lemonade, two glasses of ice with pink straws poking out, and a small plate with one square brownie on it.

"Thank you, Mary." America said, from her relaxed position, curled up on Maxon's chest. "You're dismissed for the evening."

Mary had been with America long enough to know better than to try to stay and carry out her duties for the sake of propriety. That had always been more of Anne's preoccupation, anyway. Mary was perfectly content to call it an early night and allow the Queen to undress herself. Or, as was more frequently the case, allow the King to undress her.

Maxon filled a glass with lemonade using his free hand, the other stroking patterns on America's back. He took a sip, then lowered the glass to her level and she nipped at the straw until she managed to capture it in her mouth.

Maxon pressed his lips to the top of America's head, slowly, then leant back and took a deep breath. "America, I've been thinking about what you said."

America blinked and let the straw fall from her mouth, cutting off her supply of the cold, sweet liquid. "What did I say?"

"In the safe room?" he reminded her. "About the laws of inheritance?"

America gulped. Was he going to tell her off? Did he resent her manipulation of him? "I'm sorry about that, Maxon." A more elaborate apology was on its way to her lips, but Maxon's words halted her.

"You have a good point." Maxon said. America was surprised. She leaned back to look at his face, curiously. He continued, "It's not fair that we promise our boys the keys to the Kingdom and we make absolutely no allowances for the prosperity of our girls. And it sends the wrong message to the rest of Illéa."

America beamed at him. He'd listened to what she'd said. He'd turned it over in his mind, considered the angles, and realized that he agreed with her. He was _so_ sexy when he agreed with her. "Maxon—"

"I'm not finished, America." Her smile faltered. "You have a good point; but I don't know that there's anything we can do about it right now. We have to be very careful with how we proceed. We're changing the very foundations of Illéa right now, and timing is everything. If we want there to be a throne for any of our children, boys or girls, we need to be patient and calculating."

Patient.

Patient was not exactly America's middle name. She winced.

"You would consider it, though?" America asked, hopefully. "Our daughter ascending your throne?"

"Yes, of course." Maxon assured her. "America, I don't think women are inferior."

"I know that."

"I happen to love women."

"Yeah, I know that, too." America said, a bite to her tone. A small one. A nip. She was thinking of the Selection again. Spending the whole day with Kriss had put it at the forefront of her mind, even though they were all friends now. The Selection had been worth every moment, and she was infinitely glad she'd done it, but that didn't take away how painful the entire process had been. Sometimes she still felt echoes of that pain, though the source was long removed.

"Yes, you do." his eyes searched hers for a moment, sensing her discomfort and determining how worried he should be about it. "We talk to Stavros next. That's the next thing we do. In private, and dependent upon his utmost discretion. We discuss the law with him. We suggest our proposed amendment. He laughs at us and shakes his head and then gets a little angry, and tells us it's madness and we'll bring down all of Illéa, trying to procure equal rights for our daughters. And then he'll think about it for a while. He'll toss and turn for a few nights, chewing it over in his mind. And then, eventually, he'll come back to us. And he'll either show us the way, or he'll shut us down. Either way, with the state of things currently… with the rebels and the Loyalists attempting to overthrow my reign… we abide by his recommendation."

America nodded, "I understand."

"And if he says 'no'?" Maxon asked, skeptically.

"I'll try again later." America said. "I won't give up, that's not me, but I do understand, Maxon. We need stability right now, consistency. The people need steady leadership. A steady, unsurprisingly male line of succession might be what they need right now."

The corners of Maxon's lips tugged upwards. "I'm proud of you, Ames."

"What? Why?" Sometimes she still thought it was funny when he used May's name for her. Funny, but endearing and adorable and knee-weakening, too.

"There was a time when Stavros shutting you down might have sent you storming onto the _Report _and recklessly calling for the immediate and complete overthrow of the foundations of Illéa."

"God, Maxon, o_nce_. I recklessly called for the immediate and complete overthrow of the caste system live, on national television, _once_. Let it go." she joked. "And give me more lemonade."

Maxon chuckled, not his loud, hilarious, terrible, snorting laugh, but his deep, throaty, quietly amused laugh. He lowered the lemonade back down so that she could reach the straw again. "You know, Mary gave us two glasses."

America shook her head, drinking deeply, then when she'd had her fill, she collapsed back down on Maxon's chest and snuggled in. "But the other glass is so far away." America argued.

"Yes. You'd have to reach your hand all the way out and pick it up." he agreed.

"I'm the Queen of Illéa, I don't do heavy lifting." America said in a haughty tone that brought out Maxon's other laugh. The embarrassing one. The one America found adorable. Contrary to her word, she did reach out and pick up the brownie from its little plate. She tore off a piece and fed it to Maxon, then tore off a piece for herself.

It meant the world to her, she reflected, that Maxon was willing to trouble one of his royal advisers with her whims.

"America?" Maxon said, softly, swallowing his brownie bite and setting aside the glass of lemonade so that both of his hands could rest on her body, one on her back and one on her hip.

"Hm?"

"…I practiced how I was going to say this… I can't remember… I've gone blank, I can't remember what I was going to say."

"Brownie will help." America said, stuffing another bite in his unwilling mouth.

"…Though it's very good…" he chewed, "I don't think it will actually help…" he swallowed and then licked his dry lips. He was nervous.

"Maxon, you can tell me anything." America reminded him.

"Yes… but how to say it in such a way so that you won't get angry and I won't have to spend the next two weeks making it up to you…"

"What's going on?" she asked, sitting up and swinging her legs off the side of the chair. She set the remaining piece of brownie back on the plate and gave Maxon her full attention. Whatever it was, it was serious, if it was enough to make him this nervous.

Maxon took a steadying breath and propped himself up on an elbow. "One of the measures we can take towards quieting the voices calling for an end to my terrible reign, is to reaffirm that reign."

"Reaffirm it?" America asked, tilting her head to the side. What did that mean? Like a re-coronation? A recommitment to his duty to Illéa?

"…An heir, America… an heir would solidify my position as King irrefutably."

America took in a deep breath at this, her mouth a perfect 'O' as she considered his words. "You talked about this today? In the security briefing?"

"The intelligence briefing and the security briefing, separately."

"Oh." America gave a harsh, mirthless laugh. "Wow. I didn't know family planning was on the agenda for those meetings, or I'd have invited myself."

"America." Maxon said, imploringly, "We said we were ready."

"No, Maxon, _you _said you were ready. _I _said I won't raise my daughters to be bought and sold like slaves to whichever of your allies is feeling greedy or lecherous." America snapped.

"And we will go and speak with Stavros at the earliest possible convenience to address that concern." Maxon said. "I was merely pointing out that maybe the timing is right. We were just talking about children, and then it was brought up today in not one, but two of my meetings, entirely separately, without any prompting between them."

America felt tears flood her eyes and she blinked them back, furiously. But too late, because Maxon had seen them. He was sitting upright next to her, now. "It's not supposed to be this way, Maxon. This isn't how we are supposed to decide to have our first child! At the behest of some stupid intelligence officer and some stupid security expert… You're supposed to sweep me off my feet and fill my head with images of Christmases and… and… and _Halloweens_, and little bare feet running across marble entryways or into our bed on stormy nights…" Once upon a time, he'd known this. Once upon a time, he'd painted her a lovely mental portrait of holidays and birthdays and peanut butter fingerprints on his desk.

Maxon pressed a kiss to her bare shoulder. "I'm not_ telling_ you." he pointed out.

"No, you had better not be!" she agreed, fiercely.

"This is a discussion." he reminded her. "We're discussing it before making any kind of decision."

"I'm well aware that it's my duty as the Queen to provide you with heirs, Maxon, but… didn't we _just_ finish talking about our girls and what kind of future we want for them? What kind of Illéa we want to bring them into? Weren't we talking about that, like, two minutes ago?"

"We have time, America." Maxon said, soothingly. "Depending on when we conceive our child, we could have upwards of a year from now to enact an amendment. I am _not _ignoring the problem with the laws of inheritance. But I did want to mention to you, so that you would be aware, that our intel suggests that there is a significant amount of unrest that could be quieted with the arrival of a royal baby. And when there's a royal birth, polling indicates a surge in affection for the royal family, which is important right now, for us as rulers. Now is a good time for the country to have a royal baby. It wasn't before, it hasn't been a good time for a royal baby for a long time. That's changed now, so I thought I'd inform you."

America frowned, anger and panic abating. It stung less, now that he'd explained it all to her. This wasn't his formal proposal that they conceive a child, this was just an update. And he wasn't just paying lip service to the idea of a female hereditary monarch, he was genuinely pursuing the changes she was asking for.

She stuffed the entire rest of the brownie in her mouth in one bite and he laughed at her, stroking the side of her arm soothingly. She chewed her way through, chased it down with a long drink of lemonade, and made a face at the taste of lemonade and chocolate together. Finally she turned to Maxon, his nose mere inches from her own, and said, "Well… we're not making a baby_ tonight_."

Maxon laughed, "Of course not." then he added, in an overly flirtatious voice, "Unless, of course, you wanted to."

America shook her head and fought the smile that spread across her face. Fought it and lost. "I'll think about it, Maxon."

"Good."

"I want my meeting with Stavros first, I won't compromise on that. I need to know that he's at least considering my amendment."

"Alright, then."

"And Kriss had a really good idea, Maxon."

"…Kriss… about the public school system?" he asked, confused.

"About the amendment."

Maxon frowned, "You told _Kriss _about your plans to slap an amendment onto the laws of inheritance? You realize that, if word got out—"

"This is Kriss we're talking about, Maxon. She would never do that."

"There would be _panic,_ America."

"Maxon. It was Kriss." America said again, soothingly.

"Right." he finally agreed.

"She suggested I give Nicoletta a call. Get some advice on drafting the amendment from her, maybe base the wording on the Italian laws."

"That's brilliant." Maxon said, awe in his voice, nodding excitedly. "They don't have gender restrictions on their line of succession." He thought it over. "You should call Nic as soon as you can. Don't give her anything specific, don't confirm anything outright… but get her advice. If we go into our meeting with Stavros with an early draft of the amendment, and if it's any good at all, he might be more inclined to support us." Maxon grinned. "And you know who else might be useful? The English. The hereditary Queens of England have been world renowned for nearly a thousand years."

America had to smile at this last suggestion. "This little project is going to be the worst kept secret in the entire world."


	4. Chapter 4

America ended up placing the call to Italy in the middle of the night, a few nights after her discussion on the balcony with Maxon, but it was worth the wait, the ridiculous hour, and the extreme volume emanating from the telephone held to America's ear. Nicoletta proved more than helpful.

Wrapped in her pale blue silk dressing gown over her white nightie, America knew she was quite the sight. Her hair was long and unruly, vibrant compared to the rest of the palace at this hour. Her voice seemed almost to echo through her private office because the whole floor was so still and silent. She just knew the guards standing stock-still outside could hear her every word. She had to be careful what she said.

"I am asking myself—" The amused Italian princess' voice said clearly (and loudly), "what my favorite Illéan queen could possibly want with a translation of our Italian Act of Succession. And I am answering myself that she must be expecting a little prince or princess in the coming months, and looking to change the Illéan laws governing it."

"Now, Nic." America said, at half the volume Nicoletta adopted, "Let's not be dramatic. There is no little prince or princess as of yet, but I will say that I am curious about the laws governing the succession of royal titles for _all_ of our allies. We have much to learn from each other."

"A diplomatic answer? From my America? Pfff…" Nicoletta said, almost audibly shaking her head. "This is my private line, mia bella. Come to me with gossip or go through official channels. It is your choice." It was a gentle reminder that they were supposed to be friends.

"You're right." America sighed and sank down into the chair behind her desk. She rubbed her eyes tiredly and closed the open folders of work calling out for her attention. "I'm sorry, Nicoletta."

"Do you want to tell me what is actually going on?"

"It's nothing to get excited about yet, just a little side project that Maxon and I are working on."

"I see. And it doesn't have anything to do with anticipating a little prince or princess in the near future?"

"I would tell you, Nic, I _will_ tell you, but there's nothing to tell. At least not yet."

"Alright then." She was appeased. "Give me a few minutes, I am having my assistant dig through and find the act in question. But, America?"

"Yes?"

"If this curiosity has anything to do with a potential change in Illéan law, perhaps to be more inclusive towards women, then, mia cara, I am confidant in saying that Italy would be proud to publicly support such a change."

America smiled to herself, drawing comfort from the words of the second royal friend she'd ever made. Maxon had been her first. "Did you… Did you just call me 'my dear' in Italian?"

"Yes, why?" Nicoletta asked, distractedly. She was in the middle of her work day, after all, and likely tending to several other matters while graciously taking America's call. Even so, it was hard to imagine Nicoletta at work. Nicoletta only ever seemed truly herself when she was at parties.

"No reason." America chuckled to herself.

In the end, Nicoletta personally translated the full text of the Italian Act of Succession into english, right there, over the phone. America took careful notes, asking many questions about phrasing and the significance of the punctuation. America did not emerge from her office until dawn, and she met Maxon for breakfast in the dining room.

"I don't like waking up without my sleeping wife to stare at. It's part of my morning ritual." Maxon complained when he saw her walk in. He was already seated, dressed, and in the middle of a piece of toast.

America leant down and kissed him on the cheek on her way to her place at his side. "That's creepy, Maxon."

"You got Nicoletta, then?"

"I certainly did. We translated the act, and she all but guaranteed public support from Italy, in the event we choose to model any of our laws off of theirs."

Maxon nodded, taking that in. "That's not nothing. Well done, for one morning, my love."

"Thank you." America poured herself a small glass of orange juice and stared at the food in front of her, without taking a bite. "Maxon, am I wasting your time? Did I just waste three hours of Nicoletta's time?"

Maxon looked over at her, surprised. "Of course not."

"You think the people would accept our daughter as their queen?"

"I know they would. They'd fall in love with her the moment she was born, just as we would. They'd watch her grow and learn and test herself, they'd watch her triumphs and failures just as they saw mine. And when the time came for me to step down and for her to ascend, they would love her as their own."

This was reassuring, to say the least. Anytime America was uncertain about something involving being royal, she would defer to Maxon's wisdom. He'd been at this longer than she had, and he still had a lot to teach her.

"So you've warmed up to the idea, then?" America asked, finally taking a bite of her eggs.

"The idea of my daughter succeeding me?"

"Mhmm."

"It was hard to imagine at first, I will admit. But once I let go of my sometimes too vociferous desire to be my father, but better, I grew somewhat attached to the idea."

"'Be your father, but better'? What does that mean?" America asked, concerned.

Maxon was slow to respond. "Just that I'm aware that I sometimes behave in stubborn ways, committed to antiquated ideas, for no other reason than that I'm still, after all this time, trying to make my father proud. I'm still trying to impress him, and still afraid of disappointing him, even though I'm long past ever managing either."

America swallowed and said, taking Maxon's hand. "You impress me. Does that count?"

"It certainly does." he smiled. "And the truth is, I've found myself daydreaming in my duller meetings all week. Imagining her hair, red and curly like yours, but with my mother's eyes and my terrible habit of pacing. I've been imagining having her in these dull meetings with me when she's older, your sense of mischief sparkling out from my mother's eyes looking back at me from across the table. Teaching her, guiding her, dancing with her at state functions, two rulers of Illéa sharing one waltz."

"Maxon, that's beautiful." America said. She was frozen, a strawberry halfway to her lips, gaping at the image of it all.

"As much as having a son after her would add to our family, and as much joy as it would bring, I can't imagine looking into my mother's eyes and telling my daughter that she couldn't ever be the Queen. That she'd have to leave Illéa and rule over a country full of foreigners, all because of her pesky baby brother."

America chuckled at this. "I was so sure I'd have to fight you for this. I can't tell you what it means to me… that we genuinely agree on something so important to me."

He smiled over at her, and then went back to his breakfast. Then he said, "Oh, and I spoke with Silvia. I canceled your morning, you're going back to bed."

"What? _Maxon_." America complained.

"I won't hear it, America. The Queen is not allowed to look more exhausted than the King, it's bad for my public image. Makes it seem like I'm not working very hard." he joked.

"I'm supposed to be planning for the palace egg roll! Children from all of the remaining castes coming together with an equal chance to walk away with baskets full of candy and colorful eggs? Their parents mingling and getting to know one another as more than just numbers? This _must_ ring a bell."

"You still have a month to plan that egg roll—"

"Fabrics, Maxon, fabrics must be ordered—"

"Wow." Maxon sat back in his chair, shaking his head and chuckling. "Silvia really did a number on you."

America scrunched her nose distastefully. "What does that mean?"

"It means that, when you first walked into this palace, you never would have cared about getting a fabric order in a _month_ before a party. And you never would have indicated that you 'must' do anything."

America poked her tongue out at him, realizing that he was right and not liking it, and he only laughed harder. "Oh, shut up." she complained as he laughed louder. Finally, she picked up a handful of scrambled eggs and rubbed them all over his face. He fell deathly silent.

"I was mistaken." Maxon said, frowning seriously. "Silvia has more work to do on you, yet." He took a long drink of tea, and then poured the remaining lukewarm contents of his cup on top of her head.

"Maxon!" America shrieked. "How dare you?!" She pretended to be outraged, smashing a piece of buttered toast into his shirt and receiving a face full of oatmeal in return. "I am the Queen!" she made to paint him with blueberry preserves, but he got up and ran. She had to chase him into the hall. "Arrest him!" She yelled to the guards who were desperately trying to remain decorous and not burst out laughing at the King and Queen of Illéa. "Off with his head, I'm your queen!"

She finally caught him rounding a corner and slathered his neck and his bright white, starched collar with blue jam.

He narrowed his eyes at her, though never pulling away from her touch, and said softly, "You had better run, my queen."

"Run?"

He lifted his hands slowly into the air, bent his fingers, and started wiggling them around. Comprehension dawned on America's face. Maxon had taken a food fight and turned it into a tickle fight.

"No!" America dashed away as quickly as her feet would carry her, "No, Maxon! This isn't fair! Don't tickle me! Please!" Her cries were growing louder and higher in pitch as she sprinted across the palace. Eventually, as they were bound to do, they came across Silvia going about her duties.

Silvia looked thoroughly exasperated to see the two of them sprinting by. Around her, assistants and maids fell into deep curtsies and stayed there. "Your Majesties," Silvia called, "I was told that the Queen wasn't feeling well this morning."

"I'm not! Because he won't stop chasing me!" America gasped.

"Will I see you this afternoon, Queen America?"

"Yes!" and with that, America was around another corner and Maxon was hot on her heals.

"Alright, alright, alright!" she heard Maxon call, finally, and noticed his footsteps behind her slowing. "I won't chase you anymore." he gasped. "You're _fast._"

America slowed and turned back to him, a good ten feet between them, "I once outran an entire hoard of Northern Rebels."

"I remember that." Maxon smiled. He held up his hands in surrender, then turned to adjust his tie in the mirror next to him. Just underneath sat an ornate wooden table and a two foot tall vase full of flowers. "I suppose I'll have to change clothes now. Clean up before starting the day."

"That would be a good idea, my love." America said, coming closer. Her heart raced in her chest, but her breathing was starting to regulate again. "Plus, it'll give us a few extra minutes together this morning. It's hard to complain about th—"

The moment America was within striking distance, Maxon quickly ripped the vase of flowers off its perch and splashed the water it held all over her. The effect was like throwing a bucket of room temperature, day old water onto the Queen of Illéa. She was soaked from head to toe, her dressing gown clinging to her body, and the flowers from the vase falling pathetically at her feet.

Maxon doubled over with laughter at the state of her. Every time he peeked up to look at her shocked face, he laughed even harder. The snorting, gasping, embarrassing laugh. Therefore, he didn't notice her walk right up to him until she gave him an enormous, soaking wet hug, taking care to drench him as much as possible. She even gathered her hair up and strained it onto his shoulder.

His laughing stopped as he looked down at her affectionately and she looked up at him challengingly. She'd soaked him. It was his move.

He wrapped her up in a warm, deep, firm kiss. It was the only thing any sane man would have done in that situation.

* * *

That week, America and Maxon spent their evenings in his office, practicing for their meeting with Stavros and toying with the phrasing of their amendment. Though they wanted to be as specific as possible, they knew that the shorter the actual amendment was, the less chance there was for it to be misinterpreted. They tossed away more false-starts at the first draft of this amendment than should have been reasonable.

Finally, they decided on the simple line, '_The natural born princes and princesses of Ill__é__a shall henceforth be looked upon as equals in eyes of the law; the duties, responsibilities, and privileges of the natural born princes and princesses of Ill__é__a shall not be altered or infringed upon on the basis of gender.__'_

America mouthed the word 'shall' every time she got to it, as she read their little law over and over in her head. Maxon watched her at it, smiling.

It was a close imitation of the Italian translation Nicoletta had given America, and it wouldn't take much to enact. It wasn't as though it required massive funding like their other projects. Still, the importance of this little amendment could not possibly be overstated. If they could pull it off, it would be only the nineteenth amendment made to the laws of inheritance since their inception under Gregory Illéa's watchful eyes. The other eighteen had been primarily semantic, minuscule in scope, nothing nearly as sweeping as what Maxon and America were attempting. Mostly, the other eighteen were meant to make it more difficult to challenge the authority of the Schreaves after they took over for the Illéas.

Finally, America lifted her sky blue eyes to Maxon's warm brown eyes and said, "Stavros will like this?"

"'Like' might be a strong word. But it's respectable. He'll respect it."

America nodded, and set the paper down on Maxon's desk. She certainly wasn't going to manage to predict what wording Stavros would respond best to, she hardly knew the man. This was Maxon's department. "I trust you." she said, standing.

"Alright, then." Maxon said. "I'll talk to him tomorrow. I don't think we'll have time for a proper meeting until early next week, but I do want this to get a proper meeting." He looked down at their amendment, then filed it carefully away in the top right drawer of his desk.

"That's fine." America said. "I can wait. I've been meaning to visit the house and spend some time with my family. And I've got that appointment with Dr. Ashlar."

"Oh, right." Maxon remembered. America had agreed to meet with Dr. Ashlar for a physical, and to discuss going off of the birth control tablets she'd been taking continuously since the month before her wedding.

"When I stop taking the tablets, they'll need to monitor me closely to make sure my health holds up. My schedule will need to be a little light for a few days, until I'm cleared."

"Are you nervous?" Maxon asked, standing up and offering her his arm. They were going back to their room, which was a relief, although America was disappointed that it was after midnight and so it wasn't safe for them to go out on the balcony.

"Yes." America said, honestly, wrapping her arm around his and letting him lead them out. "I can't imagine I'll be much fun to be around, when I'm hormonal and pregnant and crazier than usual."

"That'll be a sight."

"I could do something shocking. Storm onto the set of the _Report _and recklessly demand the dismantling of the caste system again." It was their favorite go-to joke.

"You could." Maxon nodded. "It would be much safer now, though. What with our being in middle of dismantling the castes anyway."

"I just… I don't ever want you to dread coming back to me at the end of the day." America said, and Maxon stopped abruptly in the hallway.

"How could you think… Have I ever give you any indication—"

"No." America said. "But I know that I'm a handful."

"I happen to enjoy having my hands full." he reminded her.

"I just… I need you to be here for me, Maxon. I'll be cranky and puffy and in a considerable amount of discomfort, even some pain, and I'll be scared and anxious, nervous, and I won't be any fun to be around, not any, not at all. But I still need you to be here for me."

"I will be! America, I swear—"

"I don't mean emotionally. Well… I do, but what I'm talking about is actually, physically. I will require your physical presence with me. I always feel better when we're together."

Maxon nodded, then turned and continued walking with her. His physical presence was a lot harder to promise. He was thoughtful, as he crafted his response. "Whatever you need, America. I will do everything in my power to make it happen for you. I'll start passing a few more responsibilities on to the advisers. And you might start accompanying me to a few more meetings. But we'll make it work. We'll clock more hours together, I promise."

"Good." America said, feeling slightly less nervous already. "And Maxon?"

"Yes, my love?"

"Infinite massages." she made her next demand.

"Infinite massages?"

"Infinite massages." she nodded, holding his arm just a little tighter.


	5. Chapter 5

America was more than ready for a trip out of the Palace. It had been over a month since she'd last journeyed to the outside world, and the confines of the golden cage were beginning to drive her crazy. Her life was so incredibly busy, and the Palace was so impressively vast that time had a way of sneaking by; days became weeks, weeks turned to months, and suddenly she'd look up and realize that she hadn't left the house since February.

She called her mother that morning to let her know that she'd be coming over, once she'd officially cleared her field trip with security and with Silvia. America rode over in an unmarked black car, chauffeured by a highly trained guard who would be keeping watch over her all day, in conjunction with the guards who always stood watch over her family.

America felt sweet relief the moment the car rolled past the enormous gates that marked the end of the palace grounds. She was out, she was in the world. The feeling of freedom was brief, her family lived very close to the palace, but it was enough to breathe new life into her.

May was the first to greet her, bouncing out of the house and up the path as the car came to a stop. She didn't wait for the chauffeur to open the door, May flung the back door wide open and ducked into the car to embrace America tightly.

"So you've missed me, then?" America laughed.

"Did you bring me anything?" May asked, leaning back. She'd be eighteen a little too soon for America's tastes, but she would always be May. A little innocent, and a little bit wide-eyed. She'd been too young to remember the hardest times the Singers had suffered through, which meant that she had a softer view of the world than America did, and not even the loss of their father could harden her.

"I don't know." America shrugged, playing coy and giving May both of her hands so that she could be pulled from the car. "This was sort of a last minute visit, May." May shot her a look that told America that she wasn't fooling anyone with that act, and America laughed. She recognized that exact expression as one of her own. Looking at May wearing that expression was like looking into a mirror image of herself from three years ago. During the Selection, as a matter of fact. "Fine." America laughed. "Thompson has them." America tilted her head to the chauffeur who was now standing next to them, at attention.

May went to stand right in front of Thompson, a hand outstretched, and Thompson's serious facade broke for a moment as he chuckled at her. He turned back to the car and pulled out the box of strawberry tarts that were May's favorite palace gift (other than new dresses, which could not be arranged on such short notice).

"Thanks, Ames." May said, taking the box and dashing.

"Save some for Gerad!" America called. Gerad was a strapping ten year old now, muscular given his young age, and loving every moment of having the freedom to run wild and play sports all day long. America often tried to remind him not to get too comfortable with life as a 'One' because there wouldn't be caste divisions forever, but he didn't care. It wasn't the 'One' status he was concerned with, it was the freedom that came with it. And that freedom wasn't going anywhere.

America's mother was the next to greet her, in the doorway, with a hug and a smile. "How are you doing, sweetheart?"

"I'm well, Mom." America assured her.

Magda narrowed her eyes a bit, searching America's face. "You looked a bit worried on the _Report_ last week, is something troubling you?"

Was something troubling her? Did being pressured into having a baby, contending with an impossible public school system struggle, personally coordinating the palace's social schedule, and trying to amend the laws of inheritance without accidentally destroying the monarchy count as 'trouble'?

"No, Mom. Everything's fine."

"Good. You're getting enough sleep?"

America was amused by this concern, "What if I wasn't?"

Her mother just shook her head at this challenge. Of course she couldn't march into America's bedroom and tuck her in by eight o'clock every night like she had done when America was a kid. But that didn't mean that the instinct was gone.

"America!" A happy voice from behind her called. Kenna.

"Ken!" America practically ran into her big sister's arms. "I'm so glad to see you." It was true. As much as America had been looking forward to seeing the rest of her family, Kenna was the one who stuck out in her mind as the person she wanted to talk to the most. Every once in a while, even the Queen of Illéa needed some time with her big sister.

"Yeah?" Kenna asked, amused and surprised. America was always more independent than May, so it was easy to forget, but America was Kenna's little sister, the one she grew up closest to and playing with. America was Kenna's version of May.

"Yeah. Where's James?"

"Back in Carolina. We sent him on a weekend of much needed peace and quiet to visit with his family. He's earned it." America knew how much James had missed his family after moving to Angeles to live with so many Singers. It was good that they could afford to let him visit home every once in a while, though it was still difficult to travel with Astra for such long distances.

"And where is the little monkey?" America asked of her niece.

"Out in the gardens, playing with Gerad." Gerad was remarkably patient with three year old Astra, given how rough he usually liked to play. It was actually very sweet to watch. America wondered, for a queasy yet thrilling moment, if her children would be like that. A rough, rowdy older brother who could only be tamed by his enchanting baby sister.

"Let's go spy on them." America suggested, looping her arm through Kenna's. It was such a relief, just to be with her older sister. This was the first time they'd been together since Christmas.

Kenna walked with her, slowly, out into the gardens that surrounded their house. In an expanse of grass to the side of the house, Gerad was clearly visible rolling a ball back and forth with Astra, who kept getting distracted by butterflies and wild flowers, much to Gerad's chagrin.

"How long until you give me another one of those?" America asked, still watching Astra play.

"Another niece?"

"I'd take a nephew at this point, I'm not picky." America smiled and Kenna laughed.

"A couple of more years." Kenna replied. "James and I want Astra to be a little older and a little more independent before we introduce another little person into the mix." The ability to time the birth of their children had been the greatest gift Kenna and James were given when they were promoted to Ones, America knew it. "But what about me?" Kenna joked. "I already gave you one. It's your turn. Pay up, I want my niece or nephew."

America laughed a little, "Soon."

"Soon?" Kenna asked, eyebrows flying up her forehead. She hadn't been expecting a direct answer to the question, she'd only been teasing. She knew that the conception of a royal heir was a matter of state that she wouldn't necessarily be privy to, right away.

"Not that soon!" America rushed to explain. She didn't want Kenna to assume that there was already a little heir or heiress on the way. "But... I met with the palace physician on Wednesday. I'm off of my birth control tablets."

Kenna was surprised, "Wow, America. I didn't... I had no idea... When did you and Maxon decide to do this? Start your family? This is so exciting!"

"Keep it to yourself, okay, Ken? I don't need the added pressure from Mom or, God forbid, May." she sighed.

"Pressure?" Kenna was a little too attentive for her own good. She had this older-sisterly ability to read America like a book. America wondered if she'd ever be as good at counseling May as Kenna was at counseling America.

"Well, of course. It's the primary duty of the Queen of Illéa. I've made a _lot _of mistakes since moving into that palace. This is the one thing I can't mess up."

"Sure, but you've got time, America. You're young. You've got years, and the longer you wait, the longer Maxon will be King. Illéa needs him for as long as we can have him, Ames."

America hadn't thought of that. Having a baby basically started the timer ticking down to the end of Maxon's reign, not to mention the start of a brand new Selection. America took a long, nervous breath. That revelation wasn't exactly helping with the pressure.

"The advisers want a royal baby sometime in the next year." America said, then she looked up at her older sister, hurrying to add, "And that is entirely confidential-"

"I won't tell." Kenna promised.

"Not even James?"

"James wouldn't ask." Kenna laughed. "This is your secret, America, it's safe with me. I won't give it away, it isn't mine to give."

"Thanks, Ken." America sighed, only marginally relieved. Knowing that Kenna would keep her confidence didn't do much to ease the rest of her troubles. However, this stroll through these gardens was proving itself just as soothing as any of her strolls through the palace gardens. She could feel herself drinking in the sunlight like she'd been starving for it, and it was making her stronger.

"So the advisers, huh? That's not exactly romantic." Kenna smiled, sympathetically.

"It's something Maxon and I were already discussing, but... this definitely adds some tension to the whole process."

"I know this isn't the most useful advice, but I don't think you should worry. James and I conceived Astra basically immediately, and Mom and Dad didn't have any problem coming up with five children."

"That's not really my main concern. Not yet, anyway. They've switched me from the birth control tablets to these vitamins that are supposed to make me extra... I don't know, fertile." America blushed at the thought.

"See? This is the palace we're talking about. They've got producing heirs down to a science." Kenna said, reassuringly.

"Yeah." America said, distractedly. 'A science' really was what it felt like. Like she was supposed to be some sort of human incubator for their strategically timed, preferably male heir, and the whole country was going to turn on her if she couldn't produce. Or, rather, reproduce.

"Aw, America." Kenna smiled down at the look on America's face, "It's going to be fine. Give yourself time and go easy on yourself, okay?"

America sighed, nodding, and twiddled her thumbs together. She looked down at her clasped hands and pressed her lips tightly together. Conceiving Maxon's heir was one anxiety, a big one, but not the main one. She wondered if she dared lend voice to her most secret anxiety. The one that had been following her around like a ghost for days now. The one she could never bring herself to say in front of Maxon. "It's times like these, I really miss Amberly." she finally said it, and listened to the ring of Maxon's mother's name in the air. "She knew_ exactly _what this pressure was. She lost two before she got Maxon, did you know that? Maxon would have had a house full of brothers and sisters."

"God, America. I had no idea."

America sighed. "I can't imagine, on top of the heartbreak of suffering not one but _two_ miscarriages, having to struggle with the idea that you might not _ever_ be able to produce an heir. Your most important job as the Queen. What the advisers must have been hinting at to Clarkson behind her back. What the palace gossip must have been like, though she'd have heard it eventually from her maids." America internally shuddered at the thought. The only external manifestation was a slight shake of her head. "She'd know exactly what to say to me right now."

Kenna looked America over and sighed. "I don't know, baby sister. Your problems have finally outgrown me." she shook her head, thoughtfully. "I don't suppose you've spoken with Maxon about this, have you?"

"A little. He knows I'm anxious. He's having trouble keeping up with all of the reasons why, though, because they change about every five minutes."

"Did you mention missing Queen Amberly?"

"No." America shook her head, firmly. "I can't do that to him."

"Why not? He'd love to know how fond you were of her."

"He's aware of how fond I was of her. He doesn't need me piling on to his worries and concerns by complaining about how much _I_ miss _his_ dead mother."

Kenna cast her a sideways look, "I don't think you should worry about that this time. Sometimes, sure, be protective of him. But not this time. He knew her better than you did, he might know what she'd tell you in this situation. Even if he doesn't, he's the greatest piece of her you have left, and I am certain he'd be happy to talk about her with you any time."

Kenna had a point. Maxon _was_ the greatest piece of Amberly she had left.

"Maybe." America conceded. "If the right moment presents itself. He just… he works so hard, Ken, and it never lets up. The job is never easy, there are no weekends or vacations… he's afraid to sleep, because of what could happen while he's resting. I genuinely loathe adding to his burden."

Kenna patted America's hand resting on her arm. "That's 'cause you love him, Ames. You want to take all of the weight off of his shoulders that you possibly can. And he loves you, too, so he feels the same way. He'd leap at the chance to help you feel better."

"You're probably right." America relented. Then she teased, "When did you get so wise?"

"I'm an old married lady, America, I have a lot of wisdom." Kenna winked at her.

It was supposed to be a joke, but America wondered, for a moment, if she could share a bit more of her burden. Maybe get just a little bit more advice. "Kenna? There's something else."

"What is it?" Kenna asked, interestedly. She liked being useful like this.

America wasn't sure what she was looking for, so she didn't know how to ask for it. "I'm working on a project right now, with Maxon… there's nothing definite, but it's top secret."

"Is it a state secret? Because you know you can't share those with me."

"No, nothing like that. It's a secret because that's how we stay in control of it."

Kenna didn't really understand, but she nodded. "Alright."

"…Just… how do you feel… how do people feel… what do you _think_ about the idea of possibly having a woman succeed Maxon to the throne of Illéa?"

"A woman? Like, if you and he had a daughter?"

"Yeah."

"Has that ever happened before? A woman inheriting the Illéan crown?"

"No."

"Is it even possible?"

"Well… that's a complicated question." America sighed and rubbed her forehead roughly. "As of now, it only happens if our _only_ child is a girl, or if we only have girls. But, the Schreaves haven't produced a single daughter in three generations, basically since they took over the Crown."

"So, it's been a while since anyone concerned themselves with the role of women in the monarchy?" Kenna summarized.

"Exactly. A _long_ while. The laws on the books governing princesses were put in place by Gregory Illéa, himself, mostly to codify his daughter, Katherine's marriage. He put the strategy he'd used to negotiate her marriage right into the laws of inheritance, to reinforce the political power of that union."

"And your question for me is… what do I think about changing those laws?"

"No." America said a little too quickly, then added urgently, "That kind of talk won't get us anywhere right now. I'm just curious to know what you think about the _potentia_l for Maxon's and my daughter to one day possibly ascend the throne."

"Hmm." Kenna said, thoughtfully. She took her time before responding. "I think that, if anyone can break the curse and give the Schreaves a baby girl, it's you, America. You're not exactly a conformist in any respect, I can't imagine you conforming to their boys-only streak. And if that girl is born first… I can't think of a single plausible reason why she shouldn't be the Queen one day."

America almost audibly sighed with relief. "If you think that, other people will, too."

"Yes." Kenna said, hesitantly. "But not everyone, Ames."

America laughed, "Getting everyone in Illéa to agree on something is like trying to get cats to walk in a parade. Unilateral support is not something we ever count on."

"…Just be careful." Kenna warned. "It could be dangerous, messing with the order of succession. People go along with it because it's what's done. If you start questioning one aspect of it… you call into question all of it. Maxon's entire claim to the throne."

"That's… well, that would be why it's a secret." America said, softly. If a palace outsider like Kenna could immediately spot the risks associated with amending the laws of inheritance, then they really were as much of a problem as they seemed to be. America wasn't overly agonizing over this, she wasn't blowing it out of proportion in her mind. It was real, and it was dangerous.

May chose that moment to catch up to them in the gardens, so the topic of conversation was quickly steered to lighter, pleasanter matters. America enjoyed spending the afternoon with her family, kicking the ball around with Gerad, helping her mother set the dinner table, cuddling Astra (which helped her to think that maybe she wouldn't be totally hopeless as a mother, after all), but hanging over her head for the entire visit was the specter of her conversation with Kenna and what it had confirmed for her.

Amending the laws of inheritance was tantamount to blatantly calling the entire monarchy into question. Queen America was playing with fire.


	6. Chapter 6

America paced back and forth behind Maxon's closed office doors as they waited for Stavros to arrive. She was wringing her hands together, running the wording of the amendment through her mind over and over, and still mouthing the word 'shall' every time she got to it. Maxon, on the other hand, seemed much more at ease, hands in his pockets, leaning back against his desk, watching her with great amusement on his face.

"You've learned a few bad habits from me, my dear." he said.

"Like what?" she paused, surprised that he was choosing this moment to criticize her.

"Pacing, for a start." he smiled, affectionately. "And I've never seen your brow furrowed quite so much as it has been this week."

America nodded and stilled her feet, coming over to the desk to lean next to him, trying to mirror Maxon's pose instead. She was hoping it might help her find the composure he seemed to have in spades. She pressed her hands to her dress and smoothed out the wrinkles. "This is important, that's all. I want this Maxon, I really want this. And you know how grumpy I can become when I don't get what I want."

"I certainly do." he smiled. "But take a deep breath for me, my love. Nothing is going to be decided today. This is the most preliminary of meetings, remember?"

America remembered. "He'll laugh at us, then get angry at us… then…"

"Then shut down the meeting in a fit of frustration, most likely." Maxon nodded. "Then he'll toss and turn for the next few nights, maybe longer if it's a really difficult decision for him… and then he'll come back to us."

America sighed. "Why does it have to be so hard?"

"I suspect, if it were easy, you'd have significantly less interest in it." Maxon said, eyes glittering with amusement.

She cast him a contemptuous glance, "Be serious."

So he stood upright and turned to face her, placing a hand on each of her upper arms. "It's _hard_, because if it were easy, it wouldn't be worthy of you. Officially instituting this amendment would be a significant accomplishment, and significant accomplishments don't ever come cheaply. They will all cost you. They will all be _hard_. But I'm proud of you, America. You're an amazing woman, capable of great things, and if the fights you were picking were easy then you wouldn't be living up to your full potential as queen. As it stands, I know this country is getting everything it deserves from you because, at the end of every day, I get to hear about the battles you're waging and how hard you're fighting for my Kingdom. And I love you for it." He planted a firm kiss on her forehead.

America smiled back at him, appreciatively. Sometimes she still needed Maxon to remind her just how extraordinary she was.

"You didn't know you were marrying a crusader, did you, Max?" America teased, placing her hands on his hips, still smiling.

But he peered into her blue eyes lovingly, and his reply came without a trace of humor. "I knew." he said seriously, and then he pulled her in for a long kiss.

There was a firm knocking on the door and America felt her stomach swoop as Maxon pulled his lips off of hers. "Take a breath." he whispered. America did so. "Stand up straight." he reminded her, and she threw her shoulders back. He dropped his hands from her body and straightened his tie, facing the door and drawing himself to his full height. "Come in." he called, in his most authoritative voice.

The guards posted at either side of Maxon's office opened the doors and Stavros took three steps into the room before falling into a deep bow. "Your Majesties." he greeted, without moving. The doors behind him closed.

"Thank you for coming, Stavros." Maxon said, picking up from off of his desk a stiff black folder with the crest of Illéa printed in silver ink on the front. America knew it held the draft of their little amendment. Maxon moved to a set of settees facing each other over a handsome, rich brown coffee table next to the empty fireplace across the room and said, "Please take a seat."

Now that Stavros had been addressed directly, he straightened up from the bow and followed Maxon to the settees. They both stood there, waiting. America, as the lady in the room, would be the first to sit down. So far, this was exactly like America and Maxon had practiced.

"I'll ring for tea." America announced, and pressed the button that called for maid service. Mary knew to be on standby with a full tray of tea and cakes, and was waiting just down the hall. America crossed the room to Maxon's side, turned to face Stavros, and then took her seat. Maxon followed, then Stavros. It was all incredibly by-the-book.

"May I ask what your Majesty has called this meeting to discuss?" Stavros began, to Maxon.

"As you know," Maxon replied, his King voice several notes deeper than his Maxon voice, "the Queen and I are beginning to make preparations for the conception of a royal heir. As my chief adviser, I have asked you here today to discuss the laws of inheritance with us."

Stavros had not been expecting this. He blinked, a minuscule pause that spoke volumes. "The laws of inheritance? Certainly, as your Majesty commands. But, surely, the laws are fairly straightforward?"

"This is merely a discussion Queen America and I wanted to have before proceeding." Maxon deftly almost-lied. This was a discussion they'd wanted to have before proceeding, but there was nothing 'mere' about it.

"Of course." Stavros said, but he was still suspicious. He had every right to be, America reflected, as Mary knocked once and then walked in with the tray, effectively putting the meeting on pause.

America had, perhaps a bit tyrannically, personally overseen the assembly of this tea tray. It was one of the very last details that she could control, and though it likely wouldn't make a bit of difference to the outcome of this meeting, she hadn't been able to stop herself. "Thank you, Mary, that's all." America said, and Mary fell into a curtsey before letting herself out. "Tea, gentlemen?"

"Thank you, your Majesty." Stavros accepted. Whether he wanted it or not, he was not in a position to refuse tea with the Queen.

America poured out, passing Maxon his tea without a hint of sugar in it. There was a comforting familiarity about knowing, by heart, the way her husband took his tea. Even if they were in this intimidating, nerve-wracking meeting, and performing in their official capacities as the King and Queen of Illéa, somewhere inside, he was still her Maxon. And she knew exactly how he liked his tea.

When they all had their cups of tea and plates of cakes before them, the meeting continued.

"Stavros," Maxon said, authoritatively, "As an expert on the laws governing Illéa, would you give Her Royal Majesty the Queen and myself your considered opinion on the laws of inheritance?"

"My opinion, your Majesty?" Stavros clarified, eyes narrowing. Maxon hadn't asked for a recitation or a summarization. He'd asked for an opinion, and alarm bells were clearly ringing in Stavros' sharp mind.

"Certainly." Maxon nodded, unflinching.

Stavros took a breath, weighing his words in his mind, "The laws of inheritance are strong pillars of the monarchy, your majesty, a testament to Gregory Illéa's great wisdom and foresight. Since the forming of our proud nation, the laws of inheritance have ushered in a peaceful transition of power, via an unbroken line of Kings descended from Gregory Illéa himself, without fail or falter. It is because of the laws of inheritance that your transition into power was so seamless, and the laws of inheritance will protect your children, grandchildren, and their progeny for the rest of time."

America and Maxon shared a quick, nervous glance. She had a hard time imagining how exactly to proceed from this overly exalted view Stavros had just shared. It wasn't like she could just pipe up and say, 'So, how's about we give these strong pillars of our monarchy a good whack with the feminism stick, eh?'

"Brilliant observation, Stavros." Maxon nodded, sipping from his cup, and Stavros blushed ever so slightly at the praise. "I do want my children well-protected. A specific concern of mine is the matrimonial alliances clause, which incorporates into a princess' duty to her country, the necessity of marrying an ally of Illéa."

"It is much to ask, to be sure." Stavros tried to be sympathetic, but his tone came out mostly cautious. "We ask much of our sovereigns, and you can rest assured that Illéa is grateful for your sacrifices." It sounded like a thanks, but it was really a deft dodge of the issue at hand. Stavros had been playing this game longer than either America or Maxon had been alive. Of course he could outplay them.

"I wonder, Stavros," America finally spoke, "if this clause is not painfully outdated. As necessary as it was to solidify Gregory Illéa's creation of and ascension to the throne, we have advanced by leaps and bounds as a people. Surely it would be a show of great progress and modernity to change our views on the matrimonial alliances clause?"

"Need I remind your Majesty of how our young country still needs alliances?"

Maxon spoke, "We certainly need our allies, as staunch and close as we can have them. But, Stavros, it occurs to me that we have new methods of obtaining alliances now. Our recent alliance with Italy was negotiated and amicably agreed upon without the necessity of offering them a daughter of Illéa."

"Not entirely, your Majesty." Stavros objected. "As you will recall, their stipulation upon entering those negotiations was that you would marry then Lady America. A similar alliance with the then Northern Rebels was initiated through the same means. That is a form of matrimonial alliance, if not a conventional one. Marriage bonds are still the surest means of affirming a political alliance."

The conversation fell to silence. America sipped her tea, butterflies seizing her stomach. These were her future children they were discussing, not pawns on a chessboard. Stavros didn't see it that way, it was his job to look at the governing of this Kingdom as one big game of strategy. This was what they paid him for, Maxon had reminded America the previous night as they'd practiced this meeting yet again.

"Stavros," Maxon finally said, clearing his throat and setting his tea cup aside, "I want to be very direct with you. America and I will not be trading our daughters for political purposes. In our eyes, our daughters will be equals with our sons, and we would like that reflected in the laws of Illéa so that, as you said, our children, grandchildren, and their progeny will be protected."

America was not expecting the grin that split Stavros' face at this. The rough, entirely condescending chuckle that rattled his broad chest. "Your Majesty, that would require amending the laws of inheritance." he said it as if America and Maxon were two children who could not possibly understand the grownup world around them. If it wasn't for the dangerous glint behind his eyes, America might have thought that he found them both adorably misguided.

But Maxon just nodded, curtly. He was not thrown off by Stavros' reaction, in fact, this was exactly what Maxon had predicted. Laughter. "That is what we are proposing. We would like to amend the laws of inheritance."

The smile fell from Stavros' face in a heartbeat. He set his cup aside, too, with an air of great gravity. "I'm afraid that would be unwise, your Majesty."

"Why so?" America asked.

"The people of Illéa view arranged marriages as part of the princess' royal responsibilities. One cannot have the privilege of being princess without the responsibility it entails."

"I don't believe the people think that way anymore, Stavros." America said, boldly. "I know them rather well, having been one of them, myself, only four years ago. The people I knew saw the bartering of our women as barbaric. And our international allies agree."

Stavros' grey eyes went steely. This time, anger flashed behind them. "What do you mean by that, your Majesty?"

America thought this news would be better coming from Maxon, and he seemed to read her mind. He replied, "Italy is prepared to publicly support an amendment to the laws of inheritance that would erase the distinctions between male and female children of the King. For that matter, so are our fervent supporters, England." Maxon and America had had a tremendously successful group call with the King and Queen of England earlier that week, and in addition to being regaled with historical precedent for extremely successful hereditary queens, Maxon and America were subtly promised complete public support for any potential policy shifts reflecting acceptance of women as heirs.

"Swendway would be greatly offended, your Majesty. Katherine Illéa's union with Emil de Monpezat was the inspiration for the clause, they view it as their close tie to Illéa memorialized in our foundations. To eradicate that would be highly unwise." Stavros reminded Maxon.

"Our cousins in Swendway will understand that we are moving forward into a new era, one which will ensure prosperity for both of our nations, as well as _all_ of our children, male and female." Maxon replied, smoothly.

Stavros simply shook his head slowly. "There are ways to keep your daughters in Illéa, even to allow them the opportunity to marry for love, that need not be affirmed in the laws of the land."

"The only way to guarantee their protection," America objected, "Is to set it in stone. Let there be no confusion, not by anyone, anywhere. Our daughters will devote their lives to Illéa, and by extension, its allies; but they will be afforded the same freedoms we offer our sons. That will not be infringed upon on the basis of their gender."

Stavros frowned and leant back into the cushy settee, looking back and forth between America and Maxon. There was definite anger in his voice this time. "What you are suggesting, an _equalizer_, would have the force and effect of putting a _girl_ on the throne of Illéa, if she was born first. Do you realize that? To banish away the distinctions between princes and princesses would mean that a _girl_ could be orchestrating wars, levying taxes, and determining social policy for an entire _generation_."

America's eyes narrowed and glinted, "Girls and boys are not permitted to rule countries, Stavros, that's what regents are for. The law clearly states that the heir to the throne does not ascend until he or, in the event there is only one child and she is a female, she is in his or her twenties. So what we are talking about here is a _woman_ on the throne. A _woman_ orchestrating wars, levying taxes, and determining social policy for an entire generation. Do you have some evidence to suggest that a Queen is any less capable of successfully managing these tasks than a King may be?"

"Certainly not." Stavros backpedaled quickly, even bowing his head slightly in deference to America, "But, your Majesty, you must understand… it is not the done thing."

Not the done thing.

That's exactly what Maxon had said the first time America brought up this change in the safe room three weeks before.

"Oh, but it is." America disagreed. "Women have been ascending to thrones and successfully ruling countries for all of recorded history. Empress Matilda, the daughter of Henry the first of England successfully held her ground during a brutal civil war and even counseled her son, Henry II, once he ascended the contested throne." America was grateful, then, for their allies in England. The English had great universities, which meant they still had access to books, many of them full of history. They could remember events like this, and learn from them. "Elizabeth the First of England—"

"Your Majesty, if I may interrupt, I understand what you are trying to illustrate and your point is well taken." Stavros said, impatiently. "But, with all due respect, the _people_ don't know about the Empress Matilda, nor Elizabeth the First. The people will not understand this change in royal duties, and will not trust it. They won't support a woman ascending their throne, not if there is a perfectly healthy man waiting in line behind her."

"I believe they would support any child of Maxon's." America said, defiantly. "They love him."

"Yes, his Majesty is well loved by many of his people," Stavros nodded, "but there is a limit, Lady America. He is instituting changes faster than many of them can keep up, and there is only so far that they will trust him before calling into question his judgement. At some point there will be a straw to break the camel's back, and this could very well be it. The last thing we need right now is to call into question the laws dictating succession."

"Why shouldn't we update the laws, Stavros?" Maxon asked. "We are a strong and independent nation now."

Stavros collected his thoughts. "First, as I mentioned, your Majesty, we need allies. The New Asians will be expecting first pick—"

"First pick?" America's eyebrows flew up her forehead. "I'm sorry, but there is no way I am shipping them their _pick_ of my daughters."

"Your Majesty—" Stavros objected.

"_Never_." America said, forcefully, and Stavros swallowed the rest of his objection with a frustrated huff.

"Then we are treading dangerous ground with Swendway and the New Asians." Stavros declared. "But even more importantly, King Maxon, you derive your power from a consensus of the people. You are their sovereign because they allow you to be. You are not, as past monarchies were, 'chosen by God' to rule Illéa, you claim no divine right to rule. If you call into question your son's right to rule over your daughter's, then you call into question your right to rule over just about anyone else's. If the laws governing succession are seen as wishy-washy, then why are you allowed to rule at all? Why not someone else? Why even a monarchy, for that matter?"

"Stavros, if my people don't want me on the throne, I have no business being there." Maxon said, objectively.

"Noble, your Majesty, but wrong-headed. Your presence on this throne means stability and peace for the country. If you were to step down or lend credence to the anti-monarchists, there would be nothing short of a civil war to determine the fate of Illéa. Thousands upon thousands would die, Illéans slaying other Illéans on Illéan soil, worse than the New Asian war ever was. More costly, in terms of lives and resources. Illéa _needs_ you on this throne, King Maxon."

America gulped. She and Maxon had not discussed that this amendment could lead to an Illéan civil war. She took a deep breath, "I don't believe that amending the laws of inheritance would lead to an attempt to end Maxon's reign. Maxon is a strong leader, he is fair and generous and if the people of Illéa had a room full of 35 men to select their future king from, they would choose Maxon every time." America said, fiercely. "Maxon is a great king, and nothing small like an amendment to a law could threaten his mighty reign." She wondered if she hadn't overdone it slightly with the last part, but one look at Maxon told her she'd done it perfectly. He was gazing at her with amazement, surprise, and a little bit of embarrassment. She'd made him blush, in the middle of a session with one of his royal advisers. She smiled just a little bit at her power.

"Perhaps you have a point, Queen America," Stavros said, still shaking his head. "Those opinions can be tested in polls and research, perhaps the people would not question King Maxon, nor his reign. But even so, a daughter? A daughter, growing up before the people's eyes, training in the arts of military and diplomacy and finance?"

"Yes, Stavros?" America asked, daring him to say that a woman couldn't master those arts.

Stavros wasn't going to fall for that trap. "Illéa needs strong, commanding leadership right now. They will not seek to find that in a young princess clad in dresses."

"Then she'll wear pants." America said, through clenched teeth.

"That's not the point."

"Isn't it?" America asked. "Isn't your point that women are too delicate to handle the jobs historically associated with the King of Illéa?"

"No." Stavros said, challengingly. "My point is that they don't_ look_ it. A princess won't _look_ powerful enough to the people, and the people's confidence is _where the monarchy derives its authority_. That's what I've been trying to tell you."

"So this is a simple matter of aesthetics?" America asked, stunned.

"Of course it is." Stavros said. "Almost everything you do as Queen involves aesthetics, your Majesty, you of all people should know their importance." America felt as if she was being chastised by a disappointed school teacher. "Think of the Selection, for example. By granting princesses the same privileges and responsibilities as princes, you would be setting Illéa up for the potential of a Selection featuring one girl dating thirty-five men."

America blinked. "Yes?"

"One girl dating and kissing, posing flirtatiously with, cosying up to thirty five young men." Stavros repeated.

America didn't understand, but Maxon shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Well?" America asked, annoyed that she was the only one missing the problem.

Stavros breathed deeply through his nose and closed his eyes, unable to believe that he had to spell it out for her, "Think of how it would _look_."

"How it would look?" America asked, narrowing her eyes at him.

"It's… _unseemly_ for a lady to carry on with so many gentlemen—"

"Oh my God!" America said, realization striking her heart like a hot poker.

"America—" Maxon warned, but she barely heard him.

"_Unseemly_?" America demanded of Stavros, "You mean _slutty_." She leapt to standing in a fit of rage and due to protocol, Stavros was forced to stand with her.

"Your Majesty, I would never!" Stavros defended.

She did not even hear him. America was pacing back and forth between the settees, one hand on her hip, the other gesticulating wildly. "So it's perfectly fine for a young man to cavort with 35 women at once because he's demonstrating leadership and carefully choosing the next Queen of Illéa? But when it's a woman dating 35 men at once, she's just a _slut_?!"

"America, that's enough." Maxon said, firmly. "Sit back down."

She wanted to throw the nearest lamp right at Stavros' head. Instead, she clamped her mouth closed and practically flopped back into her seat, audibly huffing as she did so. She glared daggers at Stavros and hoped they'd frighten him a little.

"I apologize for offending your Majesty," Stavros said, retaking his seat, "But it had to be said. Perception is everything to this monarchy." Stavros looked between the two reigning monarchs with a frustrated frown. America got the distinct impression that he was about to assign them both detention. "Perhaps it would be wise to end this meeting here, for today?"

"Thank you, Stavros." Maxon said, and America could have strangled her husband right then and there. Murdered him with her own two hands. Thank you? For being the worlds most offensive sexist? "Queen America and I have drafted a potential amendment that we would like for you to take with you when you go. It is for your eyes only, obviously. Your feedback would be most welcome."

"Of course, your Majesty."

"And I would like for you to have the researchers put a poll in the field. Something about whether or not the people would embrace a change that would equate princes and princesses, they can sort out the exact wording."

"Yes, your Majesty."

"Poll from all of the castes, not just the top four. Poll all over the country. I want opinion research, too. What would people _actually_ think about a princess taking over for me, about an all male selection, about all of it. If this is a battle that can be won through public opinion, then let's win it, Stavros. For my girls."

"Yes, your Majesty." Stavros nodded, but he was not convinced. He was only being deferent.

Maxon stood, and Stavros followed. America stood as well, and stepped back. Maxon passed Stavros the black, crested folder which contained the amendment. "Thank you for your time and your careful consideration, Stavros, as well as for your discretion." Maxon escorted Stavros to the door. "Be in touch soon with your thoughts and the research findings?" Maxon requested.

"Of course, your Majesty." Stavros said, then he turned and bowed to America, then bowed a little deeper towards Maxon, and then he left the room.

Maxon closed the door firmly, then turned to look at America all the way on the other side of the room from him. America wondered if he wanted her to say that she was sorry for losing her famous temper, but before she could refuse to apologize for her indignation, Maxon said, "I _know_. It's awful." He sighed and leant back against the door, "You did very well, America."

"No, I didn't." America shook her head. "You're saying that to make me feel better for rightfully losing my temper with Stavros."

"I'm not." Maxon shook his head, opening his arms to her. It was a long walk to get to those arms, but it was worth the journey when he wrapped her in a tight embrace. "You made very valid, well-reasoned points. Even your outrage at the Selection thing was rational… if not exactly professional in its critique."

America sighed with relief and felt herself melting into Maxon's embrace. "Do you think he'll come around? Advise us to go forward with the law?"

"I don't know." Maxon said into her hair. "I think it depends on what those opinion polls turn up. If you know the people as well as you think you do, then maybe he will. Maybe they'll say, 'We don't care what you do! We're too busy with our own lives! Just live and be happy!' and Stavros will come skipping back in here with an official amendment for me to sign."

America laughed a little at this, and so did Maxon. "Thank you, Maxon."

"For?"

"Believing in this as strongly as I do." she said, earnestly.

Maxon pressed a kiss to her hair in reply and then pulled back, "Did you mean what you said earlier?"

"Which part?"

"About my being a strong leader, and fair, and generous, and much too powerful for some stupid amendment to bring me down?"

"Of course I did!" America smiled, looking up at him.

Maxon sniffed a little, looking into her eyes, "You have no idea how much it means to me, to hear you say that."

"Why? I tell you how wonderful you are all the time."

"But in front of Stavros?" Maxon shook his head and swallowed heavily. "All my father ever said about me in front of Stavros was that I was _weak_. It was his biggest complaint, actually, how _weak_ I was. No one ever called me 'strong' before you."

America placed a hand on Maxon's cheek and stroked his cheek bone with her thumb, "You _are_ strong, Maxon. You are strong and smart and dedicated, you are kind and loving and funny. For some reason or another, your father was blind to all of that." Maxon's eyes fell from hers and she leant even closer to recapture them. "It was his loss, Maxon. It was _his_ loss. You are a _good_ man, and a good husband. And you are a great king. And I love you."

She was sure he would have said 'I love you, too', if his mouth hadn't been so busy capturing hers.


	7. Chapter 7

As inconceivable and frustrating as it was to America, she had to go right back to work on the rest of her projects the morning after their meeting with Stavros. All she wanted to do was pace the floor in her room and wait for Stavros' decision. But, a public school system wasn't going to design and implement itself, the palace egg roll was only halfway planned, and after the talk with Stavros last night, Maxon requested that America schedule in a meeting with Elise.

Elise, for her part, was now happily married to a two from Clermont whom she'd first met at the memorial service for Celeste. Her parents were thrilled with the match, and America was fascinated by it. Elise had once mentioned that she'd spent her whole life expecting and even looking forward to an arranged marriage, but now here she was, married for love and to a vocal critic of the monarchy, no less. Rolph Lemex was a major advocate for an unrestricted press in Illéa. He staunchly believed that information should be freely available to all of the people of Illéa, regardless of caste, as a public commodity. 'Public Commodity' was still a concept America and Maxon were working on institutionalizing in Illéa, as they'd never really had public commodities before. But if America could get the school system off the ground and maybe put a dent in libraries, then she and Rolph Lemex could have a real discussion about lifting the press restrictions in Illéa. She, Rolph, Elise, and Gavril could have a field day working on that project together.

But today, Elise was here because her family had been given a position and title of great honor in New Asia over the last year, and Maxon was in the process of formalizing Elise as one of his chief New Asian advisers. America was strongly in favor of this for many reasons, Elise was smart, capable, loyal, and soft spoken. That last part would come in handy in a room full of loud, outspoken men, most of whom had been Clarkson's advisers before Maxon took over. While they might be busy shouting each other down, Elise would sit still and listen, and when the moment arrived, speak up. Maxon may not have experienced much of Elise's 'backbone' when they'd been dating, but America knew just how clever and sharp Elise could be.

Not to mention, America was just a little bit ecstatic at the idea of Maxon having his first female adviser.

So, America spent her morning with Silvia choosing color patterns and designing invitations to the Palace egg roll, met Maxon for a quick lunch in his office as part of his vow to spend more time with her, and then hurried down to greet Elise as she arrived at the palace.

They walked, arm-in-arm, back up to America's office where Mary already had tea waiting for them. America got comfortable in an armchair by the fireplace and Elise joined her after helping herself to tea and muffins.

"How's Rolph?" America asked, smiling.

"Still loudly and publicly wondering when you'll start allowing someone other than Gavril Fadaye access to the royal family." Elise smirked.

America chuckled, "Gavril is a public institution!"

"So's the monarchy, and Rolph believes it should be examined as thoroughly, and by as many eyes, as possible."

"Between you and me, I agree." America winked at Elise.

"He knew you would. That's one of the reasons he wanted you to win the Selection so badly."

"What?" America laughed outright. "He wasn't rooting for _you_?"

"Nah. He thought I was beautiful, but I didn't really let the people get to know me like you did. I was just a pretty face and a dress until we met in-person."

"I like your husband more and more, every time we talk about him." America grinned. She and Maxon had had Rolph and Elise over for dinner once, and it had been magnificent. Rolph spent most of the time very respectfully challenging the traditions of the Palace and America had spent most of the time quelling her laughter as Maxon had to defend himself and the institution he'd been born into.

Elise grinned and took a long drink of tea. "Well, America? I'm here. What's going on?"

America sighed. Direct. Elise was direct. That's another excellent trait for a royal adviser to have. "Well, I think Maxon has some papers for you to sign in his office, you'll need to do that before you leave. That's the official reason." It was true. The creation of a brand new adviser in the King's council required an absurd amount of paperwork.

"Unofficially?" Elise asked, curiously. Patiently. Patient, Elise was patient. America sighed. There was a lot she could learn from Elise

"Unofficially, Maxon and I need your counsel about something." America stared down at her hands, nervously. She wanted a good answer from Elise. She needed a truthful answer, but she wanted a good answer. She hoped she'd get both.

"You have my attention, America."

America nodded and took a deep breath. "Maxon and I have been working on a little side project, the details of which I can't really go into. But, what you need to know is that we would like to remove the restrictions that would require our daughters to forge diplomatic marriages when they come of age. We want them to have the same privileges our sons would have, specifically the option to marry for love."

Elise sighed heavily. She understood the merits of both sides of the marriage arrangement argument. She'd married for love and didn't regret a moment of it, but she also had a deep respect for arranged marriages where love could grow later. "I understand, America."

"We at least want to give them the option to choose for themselves. We wouldn't refuse them a diplomatic marriage if that's what they really wanted." America clarified. "We just want them to be able to decide for themselves, that doesn't seem so unreasonable."

"No, it doesn't." Elise agreed, hesitantly.

"But... New Asia is expecting us to hand one over, isn't it?"

Elise shook her head a little at the phrasing, but she didn't rush to deny the claim. "It's been a long time since Illéa had a daughter to give. They aren't expecting you to perform a magic trick and produce one if it's not possible for some reason. But, if you do have a daughter... yes, there has been some talk of the expectation that you would offer a marriage to them. To further solidify the peace treaty."

America sighed heavily. "And how bad is it, if we have a daughter and we don't offer her to them?"

"Well, that depends." Elise said. "Arranged marriages are viewed very differently in New Asian culture. They are viewed with more respect and importance than love matches. It could be viewed as insulting that you would refuse such an honorable diplomatic match in favor of a less honorable love match. It could also be viewed as a sign of Illéa's immaturity and recklessness. But, so long as you weren't offering her to anyone else before them, I doubt they would view it as an attempt to, say, embarrass them on an international scale."

America breathed out slowly. "That would never be our intention."

"No." Elise nodded. "The cultural differences can be explained and there are other steps you could take... signs of respect. Gifts, or seating arrangements at summits. There are ways to show them that they are important to Illéa without necessarily trading them a daughter."

"Good." America said. "We might really need your help with that, Elise."

"That's what I'll be here for." Elise smiled. "But I cannot emphasize enough that you can't place another country ahead of New Asia for a marriage."

"We're not marrying off our daughters to any country, it's not specifically New Asia that we're spurning." America assured her. "We really are just trying to give our girls their chance at finding what Maxon and I have. What you and Rolph have, for that matter. And it's all theoretical, at this point. We have no idea how many children we'll have, or how many of those will be girls. I could end up with a palace full of boys, who knows."

"But you want to be ready, just in case." Elise nodded, understandingly.

"Exactly."

"I can help you manage the New Asians, when the time comes." Elise promised.

America was about to thank her when a loud blaring sound rang out from the hallway. The rebel alarm.

Elise looked to America for direction.

"Maxon's office." America said, jumping out of her chair and leading the way.

It had been nearly three weeks since the last rebel attack, and America had secretly been hoping that there would never be another again. Logically, she knew that wasn't likely, but still, she had been hoping.

For some reason, there was no direct access to the royal safe room in the Queen's office. The only access point on this floor was built into what was now the King's office, right next door, and America supposed the Queen was just expected to risk the journey over.

Elise was close on her heals as America dashed out the door of her office and turned left, sprinting towards Maxon's office. The guards on this floor were all running to their official posts, passing along orders from their captains, and America was so distracted by trying to hear what they were saying, and if any of it sounded deadly, that she almost ran right into her husband.

"Maxon! What are you doing?" America chastised. "Get to the safe room! Now!"

"I had to come and get you." Maxon explained, looking a little panicked.

"Like we'd get lost?" America asked, exasperated. Now she was leading all three of them towards the office doors just down the hall from hers. She held the doors open and Maxon and Elise passed through, then she slammed the doors shut and locked them with the key in Maxon's desk while Maxon removed a strategic book from his enormous bookshelf and the passage to the safe room was revealed.

Elise went down first, and Maxon waited for America to cross the threshold to the dark, narrow staircase before closing the bookshelf behind them. America could hear Maxon's steps behind her, and she watched Elise carefully navigate her way down without pulling an America and falling on her face. Well, shoulder.

When they were securely ensconced in the safe room, Elise took a tactful seat on the other side of the room to allow Maxon and America a moment together.

"Are you alright?" America asked, searching Maxon's brown eyes carefully. He was still panicking.

"Fine."

"No, Maxon, I mean _are you alright_?" She could see that he wasn't hurt. She wanted to know what else was happening.

"I just..." he paused, took a frustrated breath, and said, "I was in security meetings all morning. I thought, for sure, we had this under control. What kind of king am I if I can't even protect my wife in our own home?"

"Hey." America said, gently, "I'm safe. See? We're safe. I'm protected."

Maxon was slightly mollified by this, and he gave her a little nod. "I wish I could make this stop."

"Someday." America breathed. "But until then, you are doing everything you can possibly do to keep me safe, and it's working. I'm still here." she waved a little at him and he smiled back at her, genuinely. "But Maxon? You're the King of Illéa. When that rebel alarm sounds, you need to get yourself to the safe room as quickly as possible." Maxon just looked back at her with those lost, warm brown eyes of his and the thought clicked in America's mind. "But I'm all you have left?" she asked, remembering their last trip to the safe room.

Maxon nodded, "Yes."

America shook her head a little, heart breaking for how terrified of losing her he was. She wrapped her arms around him tightly. "Not for much longer." She didn't think having more people to take care of would necessarily help Maxon relax, but maybe having another family member would help relieve this 'all eggs in one basket' anxiety he was struggling with. She kissed his cheek, gently wiped her lipstick away with her thumb, and then took his hand to lead him over to where Elise was sitting.

"We never hear about these on the _Report_." Elise said. It was a veiled and gentle criticism. If her Rolph had his way, coverage of the happenings at the palace would be much more open.

"We like to avoid inciting panic, and there haven't been too many attacks." America replied. "It's almost like the reforms Maxon and I started implementing after the coronation sucked a lot of the fight out of the rebels."

"Ending the New Asian war helped." Maxon said. "Once we were no longer drafting their young men, and with dismantling the castes and making the food assistance program a permanent endeavor, the rebels who were fighting out of desperation lost much of their cause. They went home and resumed their lives, our intel suggests. They're not exactly fond of the monarchy, but they're not so desperate that they'll risk their lives to bring it down."

"Well, that's really good news." Elise smiled, weakly. 'Really good' was a stretch, but it was a step in the right direction.

"The ones who are left, though..." Maxon looked over at America grimly. They'd discussed the rebels often enough, but he was clearly about to bring up a new concern. "They were always the most dangerous to begin with. They're tough fighters, ruthless killers... and there's no way to appease them that doesn't involve my head on a spike."

America swallowed, hard. She should have realized that only the most dedicated rebels would still be so devoted to wrecking them. That explained why the attacks had grown so infrequent, the rebels lacked the numbers they once had. And now, there were no moderate voices left amongst their numbers to temper their actions. No one was left to say, 'hey, maybe instead of murdering King Maxon in his sleep, we just scare him into abdicating-'. Only the true killers remained.

"What about their funding?" America asked, determined not to let this news hurt her.

"The Loyalists, you mean?" Maxon asked.

"Yes. Is there any way we can appease them?"

Maxon leant back in his tall chair and frowned, "Nothing we'd really consider. I mentioned the problem to Eoan on a call last week." Eoan was the King of England. He and his wife, Waverly, were not just allies of Illéa, they were close personal friends with Maxon. Eoan and Maxon had grown up seeing each other at affairs of state. Along with Daphne, Eoan had been one of Maxon's closest friends throughout childhood. They remained close now, unlike Maxon and Daphne, mostly because Eoan had never tried to convince Maxon to marry him.

"What did he say?"

"He said that whenever they encounter a similar problem, they throw aristocratic titles at the problem to see if it goes away."

"We couldn't do that, could we?" America asked, furrowing her brow.

"I won't rule it out, if it means choking off a large chunk of funding for the rebel fighters." Maxon said.

"Illéa's never had an aristocratic class before. We don't do 'lords' and 'ladies'. Even in the old days, the United States never had them." America objected.

Elise was the one to reply, "But we have had castes. Being a '2' was just as good as being a 'lord' or a 'lady'. 2's are peripherally famous like lords and ladies, get invited to palace events and royal weddings like lords and ladies. What's the difference, really?"

Maxon nodded, "And when Gregory Illéa instituted the caste system, he rewarded his most fervent supporters by making them 2's. That's no different than rewarding supporters of the Crown with titles."

America saw his point, but she still didn't like it. "These aren't supporters of the Crown, Maxon, these people are guilty of treason."

"Keep your friends close..." Maxon said, gravely. So this was about keeping his enemies closer. America didn't like the idea of any of these monsters getting anywhere near Maxon, but she understood his reasoning.

"I don't know, Maxon, it sounds a lot like rewarding bad behavior, to me."

"I know what you mean." He was frowning. "We're slated to discuss it in council this Friday. If we go forward with outlining an aristocratic system, I'll make sure you're at that meeting."

America nodded and took his hand, lifting it to her lips for a kiss.

Elise just smiled and looked between the two of them. "You two have _got_ to move freeing the press up on your agenda."

"Why?" America asked, leaving her hand laced with Maxon's and resting it in her lap.

"Because people should really know how well the two of you work together. That could do big things for your approval ratings."

America raised her eyebrows, surprised, and then looked to Maxon. He was looking right back at her. They were both thinking the same thing. Public approval was _exactly_ what they needed to support their amendment. Maybe they'd be making use of Elise's husband sooner than they'd thought.


	8. Chapter 8

Maxon was consumed with the fallout from the rebel attack for the rest of the week. Clean up was a nightmare, a dozen funerals had to be arranged with honor guards for the palace guards who died at the hands of the rebels, and posthumous medals were to be awarded to their families by America at a ceremony at the Palace. She was the one who'd started that particular tradition, and though it was cathartic and necessary, it was a grim task. It was hard to look the mothers and the wives and the children in the eyes and to honor their sacrifice with medals, like those were in any way a sufficient trade for the lives of their lost loved ones.

To make matters worse, Stavros still hadn't made a decision one way or another on the amendment to the laws of inheritance. Every night America waited up until Maxon finally stumbled in from his last meeting. The first few nights she'd anxiously asked him, before the guards could even close the doors behind him, "Any word from Stavros?". But Maxon knew what that look on her face meant now, and she didn't even have to ask him anymore. Now, every time he walked through his bedroom doors and his eyes met hers he said, apologetically, "No news from Stavros. Sorry, Love."

The anxiety was about to drive America to a mental breakdown. Every time the phone rang, every time a note was passed to her on a silver tray, every time Maxon sought her out during the day for some purpose or other, her heart practically burst, so sure that it was news, that Stavros had passed down a decision.

It was a Saturday night, four days after the rebel attack, but Maxon didn't make it back to his bedroom until just after midnight. He was exhausted, the poor thing. That was the first thing America noticed about him from where she sat, perched on the edge of his bed, waiting anxiously. He had dark rings around his eyes and his hair was mussed to the point of absurdity. The moment he laid eyes on her he said, exhaustion seeping through his voice, "No news from Stavros. Sorry, Love."

Instead of her usual exasperated sigh or frustrated launch into pacing at the foot of his bed, she said, "That's not what I want to talk to you about."

"No?" he barely had the energy to be surprised as he struggled to remove his tie. America walked right up to him and took it into her hands, looking up into his eyes as she undid the knot, then unbuttoned his stiff blue shirt.

"There's something else." America said.

"What is it?"

"I have sent a notice out to your advisers." she announced, taking care to brush her fingertips all the way up each of his exposed forearms as she carefully unrolled his sleeves. He lived for those little caresses.

"A notice?"

"One of the major projects you are supposed to be working on right now is producing a royal heir, isn't that right?"

He smiled a little, "Yes, it is."

"How are you supposed to do that, exactly, when your advisers monopolize you for 18 hours every day? If they want this project completed on schedule, they're going to have to relinquish their hold on you."

"Is that so?"

"It makes sense, doesn't it? I'm not decrypting a lost language, am I? This shouldn't blow any minds. You and I have to be awake, and in the same room at the same time to make a baby." she peeled his shirt off of his body and let it fall to the floor. Then she pulled his undershirt over his head and went to work on his belt.

"So what did your notice say?"

"That I'm commandeering you."

"Like a military operation?"

"Mhmm. You're mine, effective immediately."

"I wish it worked that way, my love." He said, wistfully.

"Oh, but it does." America smiled. "I'm keeping you until Wednesday. We're going to do all of the things we like to talk about doing and never get around to. We're seeing a movie downstairs and slow dancing on our spot on the roof, we're having a picnic at our bench in the gardens, and you and I are both going to spend a whole day with my family at the house just being normal."

"Ames," Maxon said, regretfully, "I have intelligence meetings twice a day, and defense meetings four times a day. I've got a budget proposal to put together and statistics to review. I'm trying to plan for a summit between all of our allied nations to get New Asia at the table with the rest of the world—"

"Maxon?"

"Yes?"

"Do your advisers want the Illéan monarchy to crumble into dust?"

"No."

"They're not secretly out to bring down the government?"

"No."

"Then they will make do without you while you and I make a baby, literally propagating the Illéan monarchy, and in so doing enjoy the tiniest, least demanding vacation in the history of vacations. You'll be in the building, most of the time, in case Nicoletta gets bored and decides to invade. Honestly, it's the least they could do to ensure the continued prosperity of the Illéan Crown, don't you think?"

Maxon sighed, placing his hands over hers and bringing them from his now empty belt loops to his lips. "You're persuasive, America, I'll give you that."

"I'm more than persuasive, Maxon." She said, going up on tiptoe and wrapping her arms around his neck. She leant in to his right ear and softly said, "I always get what I want."

He smiled at that undeniable fact and then pressed his lips to the dip where her jaw met her ear. "And what do you want right now?" Maxon asked, suggestively.

"Right now? I want us to go to my room."

"Why?" he asked, placing his hands on her hips and pulling her in.

"Because, it's _my _room." America looked up at him and grinned. "If anyone comes looking for you, they'll never think to find you in _my_ room. I can hide you under my sheets and no one will ever find you and we can stay there, together, forever."

"Sounds realistic." he laughed.

"Come on." America took his hand and dragged him after her. "We're going to pretend that the floor is the ocean and my bed is the boat and we're lost at sea together."

Maxon was genuinely confused by this, "Why?"

"Why?" America asked, turning back to look at him. Then she realized, "You never had any brothers or sisters… this game would be much less fun if you're pretending to be trapped on a boat all alone." She winced at the thought. "Okay, come on. I'll teach you." she promised, leading him through the adjoining door to her room.

"You'll teach me?" Maxon was deeply amused.

"Mhmm. You'll need to practice this game so that you don't embarrass yourself in front of our children when they ask you to play it with them." she leapt onto her bed, then motioned for him to follow. "Okay, now. We've just survived a massive shipwreck, and we're at sea in a little boat, just the two of us. And we can't leave the bed, which is our boat, or the sharks will eat us."

"Oh my, we don't want that." Maxon laughed, slipping off his socks, shoes, and his pants and stacking them neatly on her piano bench.

"Maxon!" America chastised. "The sharks are chewing your ankles as we speak, hurry up!"

"I apologize, my dear." he hurriedly joined her on her bed.

"Your _what_?"

"My… dearly adored wife. Is what I was going to say, but you cut me off." Maxon pretended, chuckling tiredly.

She narrowed her eyes at him. "I am not above shoving you back into the water."

"Please don't." Maxon said, with a little pout. "I'll be good."

America sighed, nodding. "I suppose, as you're the only other human being for thousands of nautical miles, I should make my peace with you."

"That might be wise." he agreed, laying down on her bed backwards, his feet by the ornate headboard, and his head at the foot of the bed.

"You look sleepy, castaway." America said, tracing his face with her finger.

"Well, it was an _exhausting_ shipwreck, you know."

"I remember." She said, laying down next to him and leaning over him. Her red hair fell like a wavy curtain around his face. "But, luckily, we're just two normal people and definitely not the King or Queen of anything. So we can afford to spend a few days lost at sea."

"It is quite the luxury, considering how hungry the sharks circling our boat look."

"Mhmm. I fed them Stavros, though, so that should hold them over for a while." Maxon laughed, softly. America pressed a kiss to those smiling lips, then laid back down and pushed her hair to the side so that it was splayed away from her, out of their way. "Well, I don't think the hurricane is supposed to hit until tomorrow, so we can probably get some sleep now."

"There's a hurricane?" Maxon asked, without opening his eyes, though his eyebrows rose.

"Well, sometimes it's a tsunami, and sometimes it's a whirlpool. But this time, I think it'll be a hurricane."

"Mmm." he was fading quickly now.

"Shall I tell you about our normal lives before being cast away?"

"Please."

"Well, you're Max." she traced patterns on his chest with her finger. "And I'm Mer. We live in a three bedroom house with a big backyard. And we have three daughters. Ella, Nelly, and Faye. And you have a very boring desk job where you go from nine to five, Monday through Friday."

"I'm a three?" he whispered. He'd lost the use of his voice, this close to sleep.

"No, there are no castes." America shook her head. "You just have that job, it's just your job where you work. And all the rest of the time, you and I are together."

"With our girls?" he rasped.

"Mhmm. And I teach piano to the kids in the neighborhood. And every night, after we put the kids to bed, we have boring conversations about bills and home repairs. Every weekend you mow the yard and we go grocery shopping and sometimes you and I have a date night. We leave the kids with my mom and we go out dancing or to dinner, or maybe to see a movie. Just Max and Mer."

Maxon's deep, steady breathing told her that she'd talked him to sleep. Hopefully, she thought as she closed her eyes and settled in, he'd have dreams about oceans and children and desk jobs with weekends, instead of his usual tormented somnolence.

America awoke the next morning to a hushed curse. Maxon had stubbed his toe on her piano bench.

"What time is it?" she yawned, rolling over and stretching without opening her eyes. It took her a moment to remember why she was laying backwards in her bed.

"I didn't mean to wake you, my love. I'm sorry." Maxon came over and gave her a quick kiss on her forehead. "I've got a meeting in half an hour, I need to go and get ready for it." he sounded regretful. "But thank you for last night. That was the best bedtime story I've ever had, it's been a long time since I've slept so soundly, and I can't wait to play 'castaways' with you again soon."

America yawned and snuggled into his vacated side of the bed. It was still warm from his body and it smelled like him. "They won't be there."

"Who won't?" Maxon asked, and America felt the bed shift as Maxon stood.

"Whoever you're meeting with. They won't be there. I commandeered you, remember?"

She could almost hear him wistfully shaking his head at her. "I'll see you at lunch, America." he said, giving her one more forehead kiss before disappearing into his room.

America shrugged and drifted back to sleep. It wasn't her fault that he didn't believe her. Ten or twenty minutes later, it was hard to tell exactly how long she'd been unconscious, Mary came in with a cart of breakfast food, throwing open the curtains to let the pale blue light in. The dawn had barely broken.

"Did you pass the King, Mary?" America mumbled, stretching and slowly waking herself up.

"No, ma'am." Mary said. "The word is that he's already in the conference room, waiting on his first meeting."

America smirked. "He does like to be overly-prepared." She sat up and turned around to face her personal maid, the head of the Queen's staff, and one of her closest confidants. "How do I look?"

"Radiant. But shall I brush you up a little, since we have a minute?"

"Mhmm." America smiled, leaping from bed and crossing over to her vanity. Mary brushed and spritzed America's hair until it once again fell in soft waves down her back. Then she applied a thin layer of makeup, just enough to perfectly even out her skin tone and enhance her bright blue eyes.

Mary dabbed a hint of perfume behind America's ears and lightly on her wrists, "I think we're done here, what do you think, your Majesty?"

"I think," America breathed, looking herself over in the mirror, "that you have just performed a great service to your country, Mary. And if our heir is conceived this morning, it will all be thanks to you."

Mary giggled and blushed at that, "You'd better get back into bed, ma'am."

"Yes, we must play this as nonchalant as we can." America agreed, returning to the foot of her bed. Mary pushed the breakfast tray within arm's length and then poured America a glass of orange juice.

"Will that be all, your Majesty?"

"Yes, Mary. I'll be sure to ring if I need anything else. Thank you."

Mary curtsied and left.

Now America had nothing to do but enjoy her breakfast and wait. It didn't take too long.

Maxon appeared in her doorway a minute later looking dazed and confused. "No one came." he said, unable to believe the words coming from his own mouth.

America tried to look surprised but couldn't fight her own amusement, "You're _joking_."

"America! None of my royal advisers showed up to our morning briefing!" he was trying to get her to appreciate the urgency of the situation.

America simply looked back at him, placidly. "Toast?" she offered, gesturing to the extra slices on her breakfast cart.

"America." Maxon said, sternly, folding his arms across his broad chest. "Now I have to call all of my advisers and reschedule my whole day—"

"No, you don't." America said, firmly. "They were following an order from the Queen of Illéa, that's why they're not in the conference room right now, and that's why they're going to be leaving you alone until Thursday morning. I have you through Wednesday, Maxon. We're going to be attending to some very specific royal duties and… Do you realize that you haven't take me on a real date since the _Selection_?"

Maxon considered this. "Well, maybe not in the same _way_—"

"No, Maxon, not in any way. We haven't wandered the gardens or danced on the roof or seen a movie together, not once, not since I won your stupid contest and you sent the competition home."

Maxon sighed, heavily, realizing that she was right. He gave her a long look. "I've been neglecting my wife, is that what you're telling me?"

"Not a single vacation since our honeymoon, Maxon Schreave." America said. She wasn't guilting him with her tone, she was merely stating the fact.

"And you've somehow wrangled every last one of my advisers into allowing this?"

"I convinced them that it was their solemn duty to give us this time." America said.

Her words from last night came back to him. "You always get what you want?"

"One way or another." America grinned.

"You know, America, you really need to be pregnant by Thursday or this is all going to be an extremely embarrassing waste of official time." Maxon said, anxiously.

"Maxon?"

"Yes?"

"What am I doing right now?"

"Eating breakfast on the edge of your bed."

"I'm not in the dining room like I usually would be, am I?"

"No."

"No." She agreed. "I'm in my bed, still in my night dress, there's enough food on this cart to last well into the afternoon, both of our schedules are completely free and clear for the next four days, and no one is allowed onto this floor of the Palace without our express permission. Honey, if I'm not pregnant by Thursday, it's not going to be for lack of effort on my part."

She watched the grin slowly spread across his face, the laughter slowly rumble from his chest as he replayed her words in his mind. Finally, he threw off his suit jacket and loosened his tie, crossing the room to her in three quick strides.

"I believe you mentioned toast?" he jumped on to the bed, sitting next to her, and she leant over and kissed him, firmly. She felt the exact moment that he caught of a whiff of the perfume behind her ear because his breathing hitched and after that he seemed to melt into the embrace. One of his hands found its way to the nape of her neck, twisting the soft waves of her hair through his fingers. She placed one of her hands on his neck, the closest piece of bare skin available to her due to the presence of his stiff, starched suit shirt. She could feel his pulse racing beneath her fingertips. He leant back, looking into her eyes, then studying her face. "Toast can wait." he finally determined.

"Yes, it can." America nodded in agreement, fingers going to work on unbuttoning his shirt at the exact same moment that his lips went to work on her collarbone.


	9. Chapter 9

America sat distractedly in the Women's Room, in the middle of the Monday morning rundown with Silvia, trying to pay attention while being updated on the progress of their various projects. Silvia was complimenting America on her décor choices for the imminently impending Palace egg roll, even though Silvia, herself, had been heavily involved in almost all of the decisions. They were just about to move on to an international summit Maxon had asked them to investigate the possibility of hosting when a maid named Esther walked in carrying a silver tray with a note folded in half, resting atop it.

Esther curtsied deeply and then approached America, and Silvia had to struggle to contain her annoyance at the disruption. Surely nothing in the world was so important as a potential seating arrangement for a potential state dinner.

America took the note and Esther stayed at attention, awaiting America's reply.

America read the note, instantly recognizing Maxon's handwriting.

'_Stavros wants a meeting at our earliest convenience. Tugging my ear to discuss, will be in the library until lunch. __— __M__'_

They were both refugees fleeing their offices for the time being. Following the rebel attack when Maxon had risked his life and therefore the future of Illéa to make sure that America was on her way to the safe room entrance in his office, Maxon had instituted a construction project to tear down most of the wall separating their offices. In its place there would be two large ornate doors, much like the ones separating their bedrooms. They would now have adjoined offices and could leave the doors open when they weren't hosting meetings.

America was just as thrilled about this change as she had been a few days after the coronation when Maxon had moved the King's office to be next to the Queen's in the first place. At the time, he'd been desperate for chance encounters with America in the hallway, and desperate to be free of the room where he'd received so many lashings. But, as happy as she was for the change, the new closeness came with a price, and that price was the loud and invasive construction happening in their offices that very moment.

"Do you know what, Silvia?" America said, standing. Silvia rushed to her feet and fell into a curtsey. It didn't matter how many times America asked her not to, Silvia was the guardian of royal protocol and every time America sat, stood, or sneezed, Silvia fell into some various form of obsequiousness.

"Yes, Queen America?" Silvia said, but with the tone of someone fully aware that they were about to be blown off.

"I'm going to have a discussion with Maxon about which countries we'd invite to our summit, I think that will help our seating arrangement plans enormously."

Even Silvia had to agree that having a theoretical guest list would be helpful in drafting a theoretical seating chart. America saw it in her expression as she nodded and America thanked the maid before dismissing her. America's feet practically flew to the library, her heart fluttering in her chest, adrenaline pumping through her veins. After almost _two weeks_ Stavros had _finally_ made a decision. Maxon had predicted a couple of days, a few more if it was a particularly difficult decision. Well, this must have been an impossible decision, because it had taken _weeks. _

Maxon had been quick to emphasize that no news was good news, when it came to Stavros' deliberation. If the answer was an easy 'no', then he'd have gotten back to them long ago. He was genuinely considering the amendment, weighing out the pros and cons. That's what they wanted. That's what they paid him for.

America wiped her sweaty palms on her black slacks, then hurried into the library, closing the door behind her. She found Maxon staring out the window at the grounds below, a tri-folded piece of paper grasped in his hand. When he heard her approaching, he turned around to see her. He looked so much more at peace since their impromptu stay-cation at the beginning of the previous week. He was well-rested and even a little bit tan from their picnics in the sun.

"Hello, Beautiful." he said, warmly.

"Well, that's not my name." America said, as if dismayed. She moved to stand right in front of him, mirroring his lean to the side, against the window frame. There was less than a foot between them.

"You've got to let me call you _something_, America." Maxon pretended to chastise.

"Do I? I much prefer to watch you nervously jump from endearment to endearment, afraid of offending me."

"That's not a very nice thing to do with someone's affections."

"I'm a cruel mistress." America agreed.

"Oh, I don't think I should call you 'cruel mistress' in front of other people, though, Love."

"I do love 'Love'." America had to admit.

"I know you do." he smiled, smugly. Then he looked her over from top to bottom."You got my note, then?" he asked.

America nodded, breath hitching. Banter with Maxon always helped to calm her, but the banter was over and they were getting down to business. "What does it say?" she asked, nervously, eyeing the note from Stavros still clutched in Maxon's hand. Her mouth was dry, her hands shaking.

"It's just a quick note. He didn't give any indication about his decision, he just asked to meet with us."

"Now? Can we meet now?"

"After lunch." Maxon nodded.

America took a deep breath. "God. Maxon, if he says 'no'—"

"Then we'll try again later. 'No' never means 'no' with this kind of legislation. At worst, the answer will be 'not right now.'"

"But 'right now' is when we need it, Maxon. I could be pregnant 'right now'. If I give birth to a baby girl before we make this amendment, she won't be protected by it."

"'Could' and 'If', my love." Maxon said, soothingly. "There's no sense worrying yourself sick over 'could' and 'if' right now."

America nodded, knowing he was right. "I'm not putting our eventual daughters at risk of being traded to New Asia like some kind of Illéan export." But she said this softly, tiredly. She didn't know why this was such a struggle. It seemed like such an obvious injustice to her, why should it take Stavros _two weeks_ to make a decision?

"Don't worry about that right now." Maxon advised. "You can't change the outcome of the meeting by agonizing over that. Be patient. We'll figure it out. You know that I'll protect my children, don't you? _All_ of them, boys and girls?"

Now he looked nervous, apprehensive about what she'd say next. He was really asking if she thought he'd be like Clarkson. "Maxon, you are going to be a wonderful father." America said, confidently.

"So you trust me, then? You trust me to take care of my girls? All of them, even you?"

America smiled, "I trust you." Trusting Maxon was always a little like flying through a free fall. There was a moment of hesitation, her stubborn independence tugging her back from the edge, and then she'd remind herself that it was _Maxon_. And she'd jump.

"Good." Maxon smiled. "I'll send a note to Stavros, we'll have the meeting right after lunch."

"Alright." America nodded, taking a steadying breath.

"Are we still eating together?"

"Yes, please." she nodded, tugging her ear.

"Good." Maxon beamed widely at the familiar gesture.

America turned to leave, but then remembered, "Maxon? Who are we inviting to your stupid imaginary summit?"

"It's not stupid!" he defended.

"Well?"

"I'd thought New Asia, Italy, Swenday, France, and England."

"The German Federation?"

"Things are a little… icy between the Chancellor and myself, at the moment."

America's eyebrows lifted high on her face. "Icy? _Maxon?_"

"She's trying to renegotiate the trade agreement that we _just_ signed last year. And we had a summit with her a couple of months ago, she'll understand if—"

"We're inviting her."

"_America_." he practically whined.

"I like her. I think she's smart and I want her in our corner if New Asia decides to toss our peace treaty in the garbage."

Maxon pouted. "Fine."

America nodded. "I'll see you at lunch—"

"Wait! I haven't gotten the chance to ask you this morning—" America preemptively rolled her eyes. She braced herself for Maxon's new favorite question. Maxon's brown eyes glittered and his face broke into a cheeky grin, "America, are you feeling particularly impregnated today?"

"_No_, Maxon." America rolled her eyes. "You know that's not how it works." If she had conceived during their little vacation, then she was still days away from the earliest possible positive on a pregnancy test, and possibly as far as a month away from the earliest symptom. Dr. Ashlar had explained it very clearly to the both of them. "But you just like to say my name in the same sentence with 'impregnated', don't you?"

"Yes."

"See you at lunch, Maxon." America turned on her heel and tried to ignore the amused smile on her husband's face as he watched her go.


	10. Chapter 10

America and Maxon had to go to Stavros' office this time, because both of theirs were being renovated. It did not help suppress the sensation that they were being summoned by an unimpressed school teacher, as opposed to 'the honor of their presence' being 'requested' by a faithful and wise adviser, as Stavros' note had indicated.

America hadn't been expecting to eat much at lunch, as anxious as she'd been for this meeting to finally arrive. What if Stavros rejected the amendment? What if he _accepted_ it? But Maxon had been insistent, and she'd managed more than a plateful. She regretted every bite she'd taken, as she and Maxon took the seemingly endless walk to Stavros' office. She was more than certain that she'd be vomiting it all up, all over Stavros.

Her mouth was dry, her hands were sweating, her heart was pounding, and her stomach was churning. It only got worse as they got closer to Stavros' office. "Maxon." she whispered as they turned the corner and the office door came into view.

Maxon rounded on her and kissed her forehead firmly. "We're going to figure this out, America, one way or another."

"I just—"

"I know." he assured her.

"I really want this."

"Me, too."

America took a deep breath and nodded, marginally reassured. They had the same stake in this fight, the life, future, and happiness of a mutual, albeit theoretical daughter. "Okay."

"I'm going to tell her about this, you know." Maxon said, taking America's hand tightly and proceeding at a slowed, but steady pace down the long hallway.

"Who?"

"Our daughter. We _will_ have a daughter one day, America." he looked over at her, gauging her response. "First, second, third… at some point, I _will_ be tucking a pigtailed little princess into bed at night and filling her head with stories about how her mother slew dragons and moved mountains so that our little princess could find love in her own way, in her own time."

Now America's breath was stolen again, but for an entirely different reason. "I can't wait."

They were standing before the door to Stavros' office now, and a royal guard knocked twice before announcing their arrival.

Maxon leant over and whispered, softly, "He's going to offer us something to drink before we start the meeting. I want you to accept a glass of water and drink it for me."

"Why?"

"So I won't be quite so concerned about the distinct possibility of your passing out in the middle of this meeting."

He smirked at her and straightened up. He extended his arm to America, and America wrapped her arm around his with a roll of her eyes. But he was right. A glass of water would be helpful. And she had felt faint on the stairs, earlier.

The royal guard bowed out and stood aside for them to pass before closing the door behind them. Stavros was standing in the middle of the office and bowed deeply to them.

"Good afternoon, Stavros." Maxon said, so that Stavros could stand and speak again.

"Thank you for seeing me so promptly, your Majesties." Stavros nodded to Maxon and then to America. "Please, be seated." he gestured to two plush visitor's chairs on the opposite side of his desk.

The office might as well have been carved from the center of a mahogany tree, everything was rich, brown, and wooden. Even the photographs picturing people who must have been Stavros' wife and children, along with photographs of Stavros alongside prestigious foreign dignitaries, were framed in wood accented with gold. The photograph hanging just behind his desk, looming large, was Stavros with King Clarkson and a young teenaged Maxon, at maybe fourteen or fifteen years old. It had been taken on the set of the _Report. _America wondered what she'd been doing at the exact moment of this photograph's taking. Had she, at the age of twelve or thirteen, watched that _Report_ with her parents? Had she been too busy playing with May or gossiping with Kenna to tune in?

Maxon cleared his throat subtly and America blinked. The men were waiting for her to take her seat so that they, too, could be seated. America immediately complied, and Maxon followed, but before Stavros sat he said, "May I offer your Majesties something to drink?"

"Water, please, Stavros." Maxon said, then turned to America, expectantly.

"…Yes, Water." America nodded. He served her first, and she thanked him. Her hand was shaking as she accepted the glass, and she could hear the ice clinking against the side of the glass. Maxon stopped short of reaching a hand out to her, because they were here in their official capacities as King and Queen of Illéa, so physical contact had to be kept to an absolute minimum, or so Silvia insisted. But he did lock eyes with her meaningfully.

'Are you alright?' the warm, brown eyes asked.

'Fine.' she tried to make hers answer. She looked over at the desk where the folder Maxon had given Stavros at their last meeting sat atop a stack of other work. The folder was now very full. 'What does that mean? A full folder? Is that good, he put together a plan? Is that bad, he put together an excuse?' she looked imploringly back at Maxon.

Maxon followed her gaze to the folder and took a moment to decode the look in her eyes. Then he lightly shook his head, his eyes begging her to stop trying to predict the future. 'You're not a prophet, my love.' she could almost hear his voice in her head as she stayed locked in on those eyes.

'How do you know?' she cocked an eyebrow. 'I can be impressive.' she felt her lips tug into a little smirk.

Maxon couldn't keep a mirroring smirk from his lips at the look on her face. 'Impressive, yes. But you've never given me any indication that you're biblically miraculous.' If they'd had the freedom to speak aloud, America was more than certain that that's exactly what their conversation would have been.

They were interrupted in their reasonably accurate endeavors to read one another's minds by Stavros returning to his chair with his own glass of water. It was customary to do as the King did, and since the King had requested a glass of water, Stavros was having one, too.

"I suppose that you both realize why I have invited you to my office today?" Stavros asked. "I have given a tremendous amount of consideration to your amendment proposal, your Majesties. I did as the King requested and had the researchers poll from all castes, collecting data and popular opinion research in regards to a princess inheriting the crown, a princess entertaining a male selection, and the alteration of the responsibilities of the princess to exclude diplomatic marriages. I also have the latest approval ratings for you, King Maxon, and you, Queen America."

"Thank you, Stavros." Maxon said, as Stavros opened the black, crest covered folder and handed them each a thick packet of data from inside. The cover page was blank, except for a blood red stamp marked 'Classified Level 1'. The next page was a copy of the amendment America and Maxon had written together, what felt like years before. In handwriting, Stavros' suggestions for phrasing and punctuation decorated the passage. Silvia had done similar corrections to essays the Selected had written on etiquette and history during the Selection.

Was this a good sign? Stavros hadn't thrown the whole amendment out. If he'd taken the time to _im_prove it, did that mean that he would _ap_prove it?

"I've poured over the data and collaborated with Renken on the numbers," Renken was Maxon's public opinion adviser, America distantly recalled the face of a blonde haired man to whom she'd been introduced shortly after Maxon proposed to her. Since then, she'd only seen him from across the room on the set of the _Report_. "Of course, I did not divulge anything specific about the amendment."

"We appreciate your discretion, Stavros." Maxon said. He was using his King voice again, with the lower tone and the consonants hit harder. America wanted to remember to tease him about that later, maybe add it to her repertoire of Maxon impressions.

"Your Majesty, your Majesty," he looked to Maxon, and then to America, "It is my greatly considered opinion that it would require an unprecedented swing of public support to safely enact this amendment. To avoid an uprising, either violent or political, and to avoid the offending of allies or the antagonizing of enemies, caused by this amendment, would require a confluence of events never before known in Illéa. Support of the institution of the Monarchy, support of the King, Queen, and royal child, support for every other item on your agenda must all surge to practically unattainable highs. Numbers you simply do not have right now."

America's eyes fell to her lap and her heart fell to her stomach. So this was it. Stavros was telling them that it was not possible. To avoid civil unrest, to avoid insulting New Asia and to keep the Schreaves on the throne, America was going to have to allow any daughter she ever had to be traded off to another country. And to sit by as her eventual son was given a nationally televised parade of women to consider, as well as a crown, no matter when he was born. This was the moment when she was glad Maxon had made her take a glass of water. She sipped it, the feeling of the cold liquid in her mouth and the cold glass tumbler in her hands was the only thing keeping her from bursting into tears.

"That being said," Stavros continued, but America barely heard him, "It is also my considered opinion that, if this amendment ever were to be approved, now would be the optimal time in history to approve it. And King Maxon would be the optimal King to approve it."

America's packet of statistics fell from her lap to the floor as she gaped up at Stavros, certain she'd dreamt him. Certain she'd dreamt this all.

Maxon had a tiny, cautious smile on his face at this news. "Explain, please, Stavros."

"You are the most popular king in Illéan history, your Majesty, your public approval ratings consistently come in at 53% amongst all castes polled. For comparison, your father polled only the top three castes, and averaged just 40% approval amongst those who would have seemed to be his most avid supporters. He never bothered asking what the lower castes thought of him. Such matters did not trouble him."

America beamed at Maxon, genuine pride for her husband shining through her smile. She knew he was beloved, but having numbers to demonstrate that love was absolutely inspiring.

Stavros went on, "Queen America polls at 60% approval, tying Queen Amberly. And when the people consider you both together as a unit, 'King Maxon and Queen America' together poll at 55%, an historic high."

America laughed, "You're bringing me down, Maxon."

"I apologize, my dear." he smiled waggishly back at her, and she briefly considered dousing him with the ice water in her hands. She was not his dear.

"43% of those polled from all castes believe that Illéa is headed in the right direction."

"Less than half?" America asked, disappointed.

"I'm afraid so. Another record for your Majesties," Stavros explained, "20% of those polled are uncertain about the direction of Illéa. Say what you will about the Illéas and the previous Schreaves, but they were decisive, strong leaders who left little uncertainty in their wakes."

"Maxon is a strong leader." America argued.

"Certainly, your Majesty." Stavros said, but as a matter of course. He was watching Maxon, who was flipping through the data to find the statistic in question.

"This is because of the reforms I am instituting, isn't it?"

"I believe so, your Majesty. I believe those numbers will shift significantly over the next ten years as the citizens acclimate to your reign, and to your reforms."

"But still, you advise this change now?" Maxon asked. "Why not wait ten years?"

"Your popularity is not guaranteed, nor the direction of the shift in the 'uncertain' respondents. They might decide the country is headed in the wrong direction and yearn for the days of the certainty and familiarity of the caste structure." Stavros took a sip of his water and looked back and forth between America and Maxon, "Also, your Majesties, we have been given to understand that you are now working diligently to produce a royal heir?"

America blushed furiously. She hated how the advisers talked about 'producing an heir' as if she and Maxon were perfecting a scientific experiment.

"We are." Maxon affirmed.

"The six months between the announcement of a pregnancy and the birth will provide the highest approval ratings you are ever likely to receive, King Maxon and Queen America. Historically, it has provided an average of a ten point bump, although your numbers are high already so it might be more modest in this case. In any event, national unity surges and a feeling of loyalty as well as a familial bond with the royal family fortify the monarchy. Little specials on the _Report_ about decorating the nursery and maternity fashion and the King's role in preparing for the new baby, all do wonders for approval ratings and public support."

America swallowed, "So we could announce this after we announce a pregnancy?"

Stavros hurried to make clear, "We could announce this _late _in a pregnancy, your Majesty, when the swell of support will be at its zenith. And only after what I am afraid must be a brutal campaign for the hearts and minds of the people. Time consuming, expensive, and exhausting. There will be projects that the both of you will have to move to the back burners, in order to complete this campaign and achieve the numbers we need in time."

America looked to Maxon. They were thinking the same thing.

"This is our top priority, Stavros." America said.

"Very well." Stavros said, with a nod. He'd expected as much. "Then let me explain to you where we're starting out. 42% of the people support the abstract concept of a princess being equal to a prince, with a 15% undecided margin. But when the concept was broken down for them, the numbers fell. Only 40% support an end to diplomatic marriages, and a meager 36% support a female Selection featuring young men in competition. A robust 55% support a princess inheriting the throne; but only 30% would support her over a younger brother, with 20% undecided and 50% opposed."

America exhaled, feeling as if she'd just been bashed over the head with a club. _Half_ of Illéa would not support a woman inheriting the throne over a man, even if she was born first. She could see what Stavros meant when he'd mentioned the 'brutal campaign'.

Stavros concluded, "If Queen America is correct, and this amendment is now your top priority as monarchs—"

"She is." Maxon looked over at America, then back to Stavros. "It is." Maxon assured him.

"Then we must get to work right away. The Queen's staff and the King's staff will need to be in constant coordination, public events are going to become increasingly important, a tour of the provinces would not be unwarranted, as well as increased exposure on the _Report_. I want to see your combined approval ratings at 75%, and the acceptance of a princess superseding a prince to the throne at 55% approval. These polls have a 7% margin of error, those numbers would put us safely over a threshold, even if they were 7 points off and you were actually at 68 and 48."

"We understand." Maxon said, grimly. It was a tall order. More than that, it was basically impossible. America and Maxon were already the most popular rulers Illéa had ever known, and they were only at 55% together. How could they ever achieve 75%? And how could something that half of the people of Illéa were opposed to ever receive the kind of support their potential daughter would one day need to take her place on the throne?

Stavros said, "King Maxon, I advise that you put together a war council for this project."

A war council was what they called a small council made up of some Maxon's most trusted advisers. It wasn't always about war, but they tended to strategize about whatever they were working on as if planning battles. They would have separate meetings just to discuss the passing of this amendment.

"I will come up with a list for you as soon as possible." Maxon agreed. "And I'd like your recommendations as well."

"Of course. We will chart our next moves from there." Stavros nodded. He was ending the meeting. How had he done that? With just the downward inflection of his voice, he'd brought a meeting with the King and Queen of Illéa to an end. America needed to learn that trick, maybe she could use it sometime to jailbreak Maxon from stuffy policy meetings that tended to run overtime. Stavros probably had a lot of tricks worth learning, actually, and America decided that she'd start paying more attention to him in the future.

Maxon stood, and Stavros jumped up to comply with protocol. Maxon offered America his arm and she took it, standing and holding the packet of data out to Stavros.

"That's yours to keep and consider, your Majesty." Stavros assured her.

"Thank you, Stavros." She really did mean it. She couldn't imagine how much time and effort he'd put in to assembling this data and formulating this plan. She felt sorry for her own impatience these last two weeks.

He seemed to sense her genuine gratitude, and his face relaxed slightly. She saw his grey eyes go soft for the first time. They weren't adversaries anymore. Now that Stavros had put together this plan, they were allies. "Of course, your Majesty."

"How old are your children now, Stavros?" America asked.

"Quite grown, your Majesty. My grandchildren are twelve, ten, and eight."

"And you are bringing your family to the egg roll, are you not?" America asked, resting the packet of data in the crook of her left arm.

"No, your Majesty. We have not received invitations."

America looked over at Maxon, who was looking back at her with some mixture of pride and amusement on his face. She returned her gaze to Stavros. "Bring them. I especially want to meet your wife." she added the last part in soft voice, with a tiny smile.

"Yes, your Majesty." Stavros said, clearly considering what kind of trouble the Queen could make for him if she turned his wife into one of her allies.

Stavros opened the door for the both of them and bowed as they passed. When they were safely down the long hallway and around the corner, Maxon stopped and turned to her, amused.

"Are you going to win Stavros over, my love?"

"He doesn't strike me as a prize to be won." America shrugged.

"Still… what a powerful man to have in your pocket."

"I don't keep people in my pockets, Maxon." America said, sharply.

"Yes, you do. That's the exact effect you have on everyone you meet. I thought Stavros might be different, having been the leader of the old guard. But you'll convert him yet, won't you?"

America sighed, realizing that she wasn't going to stop him from looking at her like she'd just cast some kind of magical curse over Stavros. So instead she simply shook her head and said, "I can't help it. One can never help being born into perfection."

He laughed at the quote and then touched his nose to hers. "No, I don't suppose you can help it."

They stood like that for a moment.

"Aren't you going to kiss me?" America asked, blinking her long lashes, her blue eyes meeting Maxon's.

"I am… I just got lost in a thought." Maxon apologized, his nose still touching hers. His arms wound around her waist and she rested her hands on his shoulders. They could have been dancing.

"Something more interesting than kissing me?"

"There was a philosophical ideal that I studied with my tutors." Maxon explained softly, the rumble of his voice entrancing her. "The concept was that the anticipation of an event would always be better than the event itself. The moment before you bite into a strawberry tart will always be better than the moment after. The moment before you open a birthday gift will always be better than the moment after. Events cannot hold up to the anticipation of the events in the human mind. I always thought it was true. Except…"

"Except?"

"You disprove the theory, America." he said, in complete awe. "The moment before kissing you is most assuredly _not_ better than the moment after. Kissing you is better than anything that came before. The moment before falling in love with you was _not_ better than the moment after falling in love with you. Everything about you is _now_, and demands to be experienced in-the-moment. When I'm waiting for you in my office to meet me for lunch, the moment before you appear is not better than the moment after you appear. I got lost in the thought, Ames… I was trying to savor the moment just before kissing you because I'd been told that _that_ was the best part… and then I realized that it wasn't…"

America had leant back to take in more of the expression on his face as he explained this, and now she said, "Maxon, I love you."

"I love you, too."

"You're smart and thoughtful and genuine and devoted."

"Yes, I am all of those things."

"You amaze me."

"Do I?"

"Every day. Not always in a good way." She wrinkled her nose at him.

"No?"

"You're a little bit of an idiot."

"Why so?" he asked, confused.

"Because you _still_ haven't kissed me."

"Ah. Glaring oversight?"

"Blinding."

There was a laugh on his lips as he _finally_ pressed them to hers.


	11. Chapter 11

America paced back and forth in the hallway outside of the conference room where she knew Maxon was in the middle of a budget meeting. Budget meetings were the longest, most tedious kinds of meetings, it could be hours before they adjourned, and she needed to see him _immediately_.

Her heart was racing in her chest, her hands wringing together. She didn't know exactly what to say, how to tell him. She was shaking.

Mercifully, Esther the maid rounded the corner with a trolly full of snacks and coffee bound for the meeting, and presented America with a solution to one of her problems. Now she had a way to get Maxon's attention. "Don't go in." America said, as Esther curtseyed to her. "I need you to take something to the King for me."

"Of course, your Majesty." Having been addressed directly, she stood back up.

America nodded, "Wait here, I'll be right back."

Royalty does not run, Silvia had driven that lesson home through the years, so America walked as quickly as she could, two doors down, to an empty meeting space. In the middle of the table, she found what she was looking for, blank pads of paper and cups full of ballpoint pens.

America took a pen and tore a corner off of one of the pads. She let the pen hover low over the scrap of paper as she considered how to tell him. She didn't want him to lose it in front of his financial advisers.

She bought herself a few more moments to make up her mind as she walked back out into the hall and saw Esther standing very still, awaiting orders.

America sighed, knowing she couldn't delay the inevitable any longer, and she pressed the paper to the wall for a flat surface to write on, scribbling,

_ Tugging my ear, for two. Come and see us as soon as you can._

_ Love, A &amp; B_

America folded the note in half and handed it to Esther. "Please give this to the King. Immediately. It's important."

"Yes, your Majesty." Esther curtseyed, taking the note.

"Thank you, Esther." America said, absentmindedly. She was back to being consumed by nerves.

Esther looked back up at America in surprise, but did not say anything. She walked into the meeting room, pushing the trolly in front of her.

America paced back and forth, a ten foot circuit in front of the door. She knew she had to wait for Esther to finish serving before the note would be delivered. It was torture.

America had just come from her weekly checkup with Dr. Ashlar. Since going off of the birth control tablets and officially beginning to 'try' with Maxon, she'd been forced into weekly checkups every Friday. At least Dr. Ashlar came to her, instead of her having to go all the way to the hospital wing over and over. This time, amidst the vitamin level checks and the weigh-ins, something new popped up. A positive pregnancy screening. Dr. Ashlar would put in an order from the Angeles Capital Hospital for a sonogram machine. They'd be adding ultrasounds to the checkup list from now on. America was pregnant.

Unfortunately, America's pregnancy was considered a matter of state. Her first impulse was to plan a fantastic surprise for Maxon, maybe find a sneaky way to tell him at the Palace egg roll that weekend. She'd put an ultrasound picture and a little note in a gold-colored plastic egg and drop it into his basket. He'd open it and be really confused until he saw the note, and then he'd cry in front of the whole Kingdom. It would have been amazing, but, by law, the King had to be informed immediately about the conception of an heir. Dr. Ashlar had been most apologetic when explaining this to America.

She supposed it didn't really matter how she told him, he was going to be overjoyed either way. And no matter how she told him, it would be memorable. It's not like he'd forget and then look up in nine-ish months and exclaim, 'Ahh! Who is this little creature? Why does it look like me? America, were you pregnant? I _totally_ forgot! You should have told me in a more memorable way!'

The door to the conference room opened, and Esther returned, free from the burden of her tray and the note.

"You gave it to him?" America asked as the door closed behind her.

Esther curtseyed. "Yes, your Majesty."

"Did he read it?"

"Not yet, your Majesty. They are in the middle of… what sounded to be a tense discussion."

"Oh." America frowned. Tense was bad. "Did you happen to hear the item on the agenda?"

Esther blushed, "I did, your Majesty." The staff was supposed to pretend not to overhear anything. But America knew better. The staff heard _everything_.

"It's alright, Esther, you can tell me."

"Yes, your Majesty. They were discussing funding for the food assistance program."

"Maxon's trademark legislation." America sighed. "Right." she paused, "Esther, did you happen to read the note I handed you?"

Esther reddened ever farther. Her black, knotted hair and pale skin provided the perfect contrast. "I apologize, your Majesty, it fell open on the trolly as I was serving. I did see it."

"I don't suppose it was the clearest message, was it?"

"I'm certain his Majesty will understand."

"Do _you_ understand, Esther?"

"…Not exactly, your Majesty… but I do think I get the general idea."

America nodded, licking her dry lips and folding her nervously shaking arms. "You are one of three people, excluding the King, who knows about this. Soon he'll stop being an idiot and read the note from his wife, and that will make you one of four. My physician is the other. I beg you for your discretion, Esther—"

"Oh, your Majesty, of course!"

"Not a word, not to anyone. Not your most trusted confidant, best friend, sister, boyfriend, no one. Not yet. If word of this gets around the castle, I shall know it was you."

Fear covered Esther's face, "Your Majesty, I swear—"

"Oh, God, Esther, no! That wasn't a threat!" America clarified. She tried to imagine if those words had come from Clarkson's mouth or Maxon's, when she'd first met him. Before she knew him well. That would have terrified her. "I only meant that… what I'm not doing a good job of explaining is that your discretion will be rewarded, but I'll know if you haven't been discrete and then…" America sighed. "I'm sorry. I'm a nervous wreck right now. Please ignore me and continue with your work."

"Yes, your Majesty." Esther curtseyed again, peering over at her carefully. America went back to pacing. "And, your Majesty?"

"Yes?"

"I _won__'__t _tell a soul. Congratulations."

"…Thank you, Esther."

Esther left, her black shoes clicking against the floor as she rounded the next corner and disappeared.

'Congratulations'. Oh.

America had almost forgotten that this was something for her to celebrate in her anxiety over how to tell Maxon. This was _her _baby, too. From the moment the pregnancy screening had come back positive, the only words spread around were 'King', 'Maxon's' and 'heir'. It hit her like a ton of bricks. _She_ was pregnant. She, America Schreave, was _pregnant_. She was going to have a baby. A little crying, squirming, gurgling baby. Kenna was getting that niece or nephew. America's _Dad_ was getting a grandchild, not that he'd ever get the chance to meet it.

There was a sobering thought. 25% of this kid's DNA was Shalom Singer, and the two of them would never meet. It was heartbreaking, America couldn't process the reality of it. She could so clearly imagine her father's face, split into a wide, proud smile as she told him the news, that he was going to get a brand new grandchild. It was so hard to believe that she'd never see that smile, that her father would never even know. She could almost feel his arms wrapping around her in a congratulatory embrace that would never really happen. And the same was true of Amberly, who would, no doubt, have wept at the news.

And then there was Clarkson. A quarter of this baby's genetic code was made of Clarkson. She had Clarkson's DNA in her body, inseparable from herself for the next seven or eight months. She shuddered. Was this how Maxon felt all the time?

Maxon.

This child was half Maxon. America would have a little piece of Maxon with her at all times until it was born. Her hand brushed her stomach. The next King or Queen of Illéa was right below her fingertips. She imagined placing that baby in Maxon's arms. She smiled.

The door to the conference room swung open again.

Maxon came running out, looking up and down the hall until he found her, he closed the door behind him with so much enthusiasm that it slammed.

"A and B?" Maxon asked, rushing forward to take both of her hands in his. Her note was still clutched in his grasp and was pinned between their hands as he squeezed tightly.

"Yes." America nodded, her breath and voice gone, her throat dry. The shakes returned. What if he wasn't really ready? What if he was disappointed? What if—

"Tugging your ear for two? Come and see _us_?" he asked again.

"That's right."

"I haven't misunderstood, then? I'm standing here, in this hallway, with—"

"With your little family." America nodded, encouragingly. She pried one of his hands off of hers and pressed it to her flat stomach, "Maxon, I'm pregnant."

His eyes drifted down to their hands on her midriff, and they widened a little with wonder. He stared and stared, confounded by the vision before him. America waited, holding her breath, for anything. A smile, a laugh, a frown, a repulsed step backward, _anything_. "Maxon?" she asked, shakily. He wasn't responding. "Are you alright?"

Words had left him. He simply nodded, staring at the hand pressed flat to her as if stunned. He took several breaths, trying to say something, opening his mouth but then losing the words and closing it again. The fourth time this happened, America tried to help, "What are you thinking, Maxon?"

"Just…" he shook his head, "I love it so much. I love it so much already, I've never met this person or seen this person, I've only known of its existence for a handful of moments, but I already love it with everything I have…"

America smiled, relieved, and gave a long exhale. "I know what you mean."

His eyes welled with tears. "You found out at the checkup this morning?"

"Yes. You have to confirm for Dr. Ashlar that I didn't commit treason and neglect to inform you immediately."

"What? That's a law?" Maxon sniffled.

"Yeah."

"We'll have to amend that in our next session." He'd said the word. 'Amend'. He'd heard it, too. "Is it a boy or a girl?"

"It doesn't matter." America said, firmly. "Our amendment is happening, no matter what."

"I agree… I didn't mean… I just can't wait—"

"We don't know." she said, softly. "It's too soon to tell."

"How soon?"

"We're not sure, exactly. But Dr. Ashlar says we won't be able to determine the gender until closer to 16 weeks. And it definitely hasn't been that long yet."

"I wonder if it happened over our little vacation." he mused.

"We'll know next week when I get an ultrasound done."

"Make sure that's on my schedule, I want to be there."

"Okay." America smiled.

His hand was still pressed to her stomach, firmly. His eyes fell back down to it. "An inch away…" he mumbled. Then he looked back up at her, and asked, as if he might have dreamed it all, "Are we really having a baby?"

"Yes." America laughed.

His eyes filled with tears for a second time, but he dropped her other hand to pinch the bridge of his nose, battling them back. "Your work… America, you need to cut back—"

"I'm not—"

"I don't want to hear it, you need rest." he said. "You've got to make an entirely new human within your body, and you're not plugged into any external power source. You need rest."

"What'll it be, then? The education of your citizenry? The organization of your international summits? How about the community outreach programs or the medals of valor I award to the families of dead soldiers, should I cut that out?"

"Of course not."

"Then don't be silly." America said, crossly. "I promise to rest, but I don't promise to cut anything."

Maxon frowned. "More staff, then, to help you? More maids on call—"

"I don't think…" America paused.

"You've been making do with just Mary and Paige for so long, America, you know you're owed a third personal maid."

America thought of Esther. If she proved loyal and did not let this royal secret slip, she might be valuable. "I'll consider it."

"That's my girl." Maxon shifted his hand slightly so that it was grasping her waist and he pulled her in for a kiss. "I love you."

"I love you, too."

"So this is our little secret, for now, I presume?"

"Yes." America nodded, recalling Dr. Ashlar's words. "As a matter of State, you must inform your advisers. And I should tell Mary and Paige. But otherwise, it's our little secret."

Maxon nodded. "Do you want to tell your mother?"

"God, no, not yet." America winced.

"Fair enough." Maxon smiled. "But if there's anyone you feel you should tell, I want you to feel free."

"You're not worried about the royal rumors?"

Maxon laughed and pulled her in for a hug. "Baby rumors? Sweetheart, they've been watching you for 'bumps' since I proposed to you instead of Kriss. Do you remember the wild rumor that you were pregnant and I found out, which accounted for the change in my choice?"

"Of course I do." America frowned.

"Let them talk. That's all it will be, until it's not anymore." Maxon pressed his lips to her hair. "I'm so happy, America."

"Good."

"As promised, we will be spending more time together, starting now."

"Now? But what about your budget meeting?"

"It wasn't going well. As usual, too many projects and not enough money. I've postponed until Monday."

America supposed the advisers must have gone out the door on the other side of the room which led to the hall with all of their offices in it. Still, she was glad no one had decided to go the other way. They'd have walked in on quite the scene between Maxon and her.

"Alright, then." America smiled. "I guess I should send word to Silvia not to expect me until after lunch."

"She'll be livid, this close to a major palace event." Maxon smiled, wrapping an arm around her waist and leading her off.

"I know. I'll have to spend the next week getting back into her good graces." America smiled.

"Gardens or bed?" Maxon asked, as they arrived at the stairs.

"My two true loves." America sighed, going back and forth in her mind. Then she looked over at him. "I could use some pajama time." she confessed.

"We have time for a quick game of 'castaways'." Maxon suggested. "Perhaps it's time for that hurricane to hit our boat?"

"Oh, yes." America nodded, smiling, as he led her up the stairs. "It will be terrifying and I'll cling to you the whole time, and we'll barely survive, and we'll have to take a long nap to recover." she said, placidly.

"As we drift off to sleep, and also to sea, we'll discuss names for our baby."

"Who, 'Max and Mer'? Or you and me?"

"Max and Mer." Maxon said. It was just as well. America couldn't imagine trying to come up with real baby names, as overwhelmed as she was with this news. "How many normal children do the normal 'Max and Mer' have? I can't remember what you said."

"They have three already. And I guess we'll let the baby play with us, since it's here and all." America tapped her tummy. "So almost four."

"It's generous of you, to let the little kids play." Maxon complimented her with a chuckle, probably repeating something his mother had told him once about playing with his younger cousins.

"Born into perfection and all." America reminded him, leaning into him as he tightened the arm around her waist and led her out to sea.


	12. Chapter 12

The morning of the Palace egg roll arrived too brightly and too early for America's tastes, but she was grateful. In true Angeles fashion, there wasn't a cloud in the sky. The entire Palace was a giant pastel pop of springtime colors with large tented pavilions set up in the gardens full of food and music. The staff were all in top form, Silvia organizing the decorators and Mary fulfilling her role as head of the Queen's staff by organizing all of the maids and butlers. It was a delicate, beautiful ballet, putting the gardens together that morning. America enjoyed being at the center of it more than she'd expected to.

She had gotten the idea for this huge celebration during her very first year as Queen, as she'd read through the rest of Gregory Illéa's diaries with Maxon, trying to come to terms with the dubious beginnings on their country. Transcribed neatly in the pages, amidst countless atrocities, another holiday tradition was detailed, like Halloween. One involving colorful, candy-filled eggs and a scavenger hunt of sorts to find them. It was a Christian tradition, in the old days they'd used it to celebrate the death and resurrection of the messiah. But, as it had been abandoned anyway, America didn't think the messiah would mind too much if she repurposed it as a celebration of the springtime.

It was the very end of April now, and the garden was absolutely flourishing. If they'd had the egg roll on the actual equinox, the flowers wouldn't have been ready yet. The end of April was the perfect time to host this event, and if it went well this year, the Palace would be sending funding next year to the Mayors of each province, and the inter-caste celebration would spread, hopefully becoming a beloved Illéan tradition, although America wasn't clear on how beloved traditions started, so she wasn't sure if her little egg thing would ever truly qualify.

America left just before the guests began arriving and Paige finished preparing her, helping her into a beautiful floral day dress that hit just below her knees and a pair of diamond earrings that had belonged to Amberly. Those earrings had been Maxon's first anniversary gift to her, as well as the plain, though intricately woven, delicate golden crown she currently wore atop her head that perfectly matched the rosy hues in her engagement ring.

She met up with Maxon, who'd been busy all morning with security meetings in anticipation of hosting a major palace event, just around the corner from the doors that led to the gardens. They needed to wait for all of the guests to arrive so that they could be formally announced, and everyone could curtsey, and they could take their seats on the thrones that had been set up under the main pavilion outside, and the party could officially begin.

When he finally arrived, Maxon looked as handsome as America had ever seen him, in a pair of starched khaki pants and a short-sleeved blue button-up. He was dressed perfectly for the warm weather, but he looked kind of silly wearing a golden crown on his head with that outfit. He also wore one of his favorite cameras around his neck.

"You're a casual king today, I see." America smiled.

"Should I go change?" Maxon asked, self-consciously.

"Please don't." America shook her head. "I'm hoping we can ditch the hardware before they give us both neck aches, maybe sometime after the formal programming?" The formal programming involved the concert given by the musicians to entertain the children as the parents and King and Queen went to hide the eggs throughout the garden. Then, at the conclusion of the music, the kids would be lined up by the maids and butlers and sent into the gardens in order of youngest to oldest. The littlest attendees would receive help from their parents. Sometime in the chaos of the egg hunt, America hoped to get out of the crown for the day.

"I think we can arrange something. I don't want the mother of my heir suffering from unnecessary neck aches."

"Shh." America warned, glancing around to see if anyone was near enough to have heard him. They were alone. She smiled and gave him a kiss. "So, the security briefing?"

"We're in good shape, my love." Maxon said, offering her his arm. She wrapped hers around it and leant a little against him. She was already tired, she'd been up before dawn getting ready for this party. Even though she'd only gone off of the birth control tablets three and a half weeks earlier, so she couldn't possibly be more than a month along, she was already feeling the exhaustion. That, or Maxon was right and she'd taken too much onto her schedule, even for a non-pregnant queen.

"I saw the extra guards stationed around the perimeter."

"Aspen's coordinating the whole thing." Maxon nodded. "But we don't expect any problems from the rebels."

"Hmm…" America paused, "Let me see if I can figure out why not."

"Alright." Maxon smiled. He liked it when she puzzled her way through matters of state or security like this. It helped him to understand her thought process as she struggled to wrap her mind around his world. It showed how much she'd grown and learned since the great anti-caste _Report_ debacle.

"There are a lot of innocent people here, and the King and Queen are out in the open. This would appear to be the perfect time to destroy the entire monarchy, and either make August and Georgia step up and finally take responsibility, those lazy slackers, or lead a coup and institute a rebel government."

"Yes, it would appear that way." Maxon nodded, with a grin. He and America liked making fun of August and Georgia for shirking their responsibility to the monarchy. August was now the King's adviser on rebel activity, and especially after particularly grueling briefings, Maxon would tease August and tell him that it was his turn to be King. "So, do you think that's what's going to happen?"

"No… because…" America frowned, thinking hard. "Because, killing Palace staff is one thing, because they're royal sympathizers, and foreign dignitaries are just another kind of royalty… so they all represent the thing the rebels are opposed to."

"That's right."

"But these people here are random citizens…"

"Why wouldn't the rebels want to kill them?" Maxon coaxed.

"I'm not sure... They've done it before." America said, thinking back.

"When?"

"During the Selection, they started randomly attacking the castes that the Elite represented."

"Did that go well for them?"

"No. The citizens rose up against them and began to fight back."

"Thanks to a beautiful redhead I married." Maxon nodded. "They lost a lot of public support that way, didn't they?"

"Yes. They learned that if they kill random citizens, then they'll lose public support."

"And what is public support to them, darling?" Maxon asked.

"Money. And man-power. It's hard to fight a revolution with no one willing to enlist in your army."

"That's right." Maxon smiled proudly. "If they alienate ordinary citizens and lose their support, they'll never get enough momentum going to actually overthrow our government. They'll never get to subjugate the people without the support of the people. They need to play nicely, at least where average citizens are concerned. They know that now, and are therefore unlikely to attack our party."

"Hmm." America considered it. "I hope you're right, Maxon."

"Me, too." he said, grimly.

They heard a fanfare play and knew that it was time for them to be introduced. "We'll just have to trust Aspen, then, won't we?" America said, as they headed out to the gardens.

"Yes, we will. As usual." Maxon agreed, and the doors to the garden were opened for them, leading them out onto a bright, sunny lawn.

Maxon and America were making separate rounds at the beginning of the party, so as to greet more guests, faster. America was under strict orders from Dr. Ashlar to drink lots of water and take plenty of breaks in the shade of the pavilions. She'd just finished greeting a family of threes who had been drawn in the lottery to attend, and decided it was time for some water, when she caught a glimpse of her family for the first time.

She saw Kenna approaching the same snack table, and at a distance behind her, James, Astra, Magda, May, and Gerad were chatting in a huge huddle with a family of fives drawn from the lottery.

"Ken." America smiled.

"Your Majesty." Kenna teased. America usually got teased by her family when she was wearing the crown, except for May, who thought it was amazing and didn't understand why America didn't wear it more often.

"When I'm done with the greetings, I want to spend some time with you guys, okay?"

"Of course." Kenna reached for a glass of champagne and America froze.

Kenna would be expecting America to do the same, but America couldn't drink the champagne arranged on the table. She would need either to ask an attendant maid to pour a glass of water, or pour one for herself from the crystal pitcher right there. Either way, Kenna would notice. There was no subtle way to choose water over champagne, and Kenna would know what it meant.

America cleared her throat to buy herself a moment, and finally decided that it was bad enough that she was wearing the crown today. She could pour her own damn water.

Kenna's jaw hung open, her eyes narrowed at America, watching the event unfold. Watching America pick up the heavy pitcher, pour herself a glass of water, set the pitcher carefully down on the table and then take a long sip.

"Oh, Ames." Kenna breathed.

"Not a word, Kenna." America said, seriously. "I really can't deal with Mom right now."

"I know what you mean." Kenna smiled. "But, America—"

"We'll talk later."

"Just… how far… I mean, when—"

"We're not sure yet. It's very, _very_ early. All the more reason not to breathe a word of it to anyone."

Kenna broke into a broad grin. "Oh, baby sister."

"Later?" America asked.

"Later." Kenna confirmed. She walked back over to join the rest of the Singers, grinning broadly. May looked up and caught America's eye with a large, bright smile. America waved and May waved back. May was going to be a terrific Aunt. This baby was very, very lucky.

America finished her glass of water under the shade of the tented pavilion where the staff had set up the thrones for Maxon and her. That's where Marlee, Carter, and Kile caught up to her.

"Great party, America!" Marlee exclaimed, a squirming two year old Kile on her hip.

"Thanks." America smiled, hugging Marlee with one arm, to avoid squishing Kile. "I'm glad Aspen gave you the time off, Carter."

"Yeah, funny thing." Carter nodded, taking his turn to hug America, "the Queen of Illéa cornered him in the hallway outside of our weight room and demanded that I be given the day off to spend with my family. Can you believe that?"

"Crazy." America said, wryly. "She must be a firecracker, that Queen."

"She certainly is." Carter said, appreciatively. "Thanks, Ames."

"Kile, do you want to go play with Astra?" America asked, turning to her little godson. Astra was only a year and a half older than Kile, and they were great playmates. It was good for both of them to spend time around kids their own age. America was stunned again when she remembered that soon she'd have her own baby to contribute to the 'kids their own age' collection.

Kile did this adorable thing where he pretended to be too shy to answer, then nodded his head a little, bashfully, then shouted, "Jes!" Because the letter 'y' was still too complicated a sound for his little tongue to form.

"Where are they?" Marlee asked, "I'll run him over there."

"They're in the far corner, past the refreshments table." America nodded over because if Silvia caught her pointing at a Palace event like this, in all likelihood, Silvia would chop America's finger off. "But, Carter, would you mind? I need a word with Marlee."

"Of course." Carter said. Marlee set Kile down and Carter leant over to take his little hand and lead him off.

For a moment, America and Marlee just watched them go. Carter, tall, lean and muscular, bent almost double over to reach the soft, little hand clasped gently in his own. "They're amazing, Mar." America said, in awe. Her heart fluttered in her chest as she imagined Maxon in the same posture, leading along their little son. Maybe a little blonde haired boy like Maxon, or maybe with mahogany hair like Amberly's had been. In just two short years, that's exactly what could happen.

Marlee tore her eyes away from her boys and watched America watch them go for a moment longer. "So, what's going on, America?"

America cleared her throat, remembering the task at hand. "Maxon and I are working on a little project right now. I can't go into details here, but he's assembling a war council for it, made up entirely of his advisers."

"Um… Okay." Marlee said, not sure why she was being told any of this. She'd been working at an introductory position in Silvia's office since Maxon and America had returned Marlee's and Carter's titles and positions to them, the same week as the royal wedding and coronation. Marlee was one of America's closest friends, but her official capacity at the palace was as something like a junior assistant to Silvia, so Marlee clearly wasn't sure what America was telling her this for.

"All of Maxon's advisers are men." America explained. "And though they're experienced and wise and they give very good counsel, for this particular project, I think we need some female voices in the room. I think it would help. Particularly because this is a public opinion project, and half of the public are women, it might be nice to hear from some women."

"Makes sense." Marlee nodded, still unsure where this was going.

"Maxon's war council can't have outsiders on the panel. Only his advisers can be on the panel. But I can make my own war council, and since I have no official advisers of my own, I can appoint whoever the hell I want to."

Marlee laughed at America's casual vulgarity. It must have sounded strange coming from the woman with the Queen's crown on her head. Marlee's eyes sparkled as she started to piece together what America was suggesting and asked, "Who are you going to appoint to your war council, then?"

"Well, I'd like to start with you, if you'd be willing. You were the people's darling from very early on in the Selection. I would love to harness some of your power, if you'll lend it to me."

"Of course!"

"Great." America smiled, relieved. "We'll be meeting jointly with Maxon's council sometimes, but mostly we'll be meeting a few times a week on our own, here in the palace. I'll send a note to you when I set the first meeting, and then I'll explain a little more about what we're doing."

"This is exciting." Marlee grinned. "Wow. You really think I'll be useful?"

"I know it." America said, wrapping an arm around Marlee. "I need people I trust around me. People who will be honest with me, even though I'm the Queen, people who care about _me_, and not just the Queen." She needed those people, because those would be the people who would care about her children because they were her children, and not because they were princes and princesses.

"I won't let you down." Marlee said. "I'm so glad I can finally start paying you and Maxon back for the endless stream of amazing things you've done for us."

"You're my best friend, Marls." America said, surprised. "You don't have to pay us back for anything. This is just what friends do."

"Friends sneak friends into the kitchens under assumed identities to spare them being cast out into the streets to live out their lives as eights, the wretched refuse of society? Friends do that a lot, do they? Then reinstate their friends titles in the middle of coronation week, the busiest week in history, even though they could have waited a few days and it would have been fine? Then let their friends live with them in the Palace of Illéa—"

"Good friends do all of that, Marlee." America nodded. She didn't like being thanked by Marlee and Carter. They were like family to Maxon and her, and where else would they want their family to be? As close to them as possible. As happy as possible. "We're just sorry we had to wait until Maxon was coronated King to do it."

Marlee shook her head at America and smiled, "Fine. Then I'm not paying you back for anything, if that's the way you want to be. I'm just being a good friend and citizen, helping my sovereign queen."

"Thank you, peasant." America joked and Marlee laughed. "I have to get back out there. Why don't you go meet up with Carter and Kile?" America suggested.

"Alright." Marlee agreed. "I want to see you soon, though. For real. You've been too busy lately, Ames."

"Yeah." America nodded. "Maybe I can get Silvia to relinquish you some afternoon this week?" She wanted to be sure to tell Marlee about the baby before the meeting with the makeshift war council. She wanted that moment to be private so that she could fully enjoy the look on her best friend's face.

"That would be great, we could skip work together." Marlee winked at her, gave her one more squeeze, and then hurried off to rejoin her family, now talking with America's family and the family of fives they'd been chatting with before. Astra and Kile were chasing each other in circles around the group.

America wandered through the masses of people, meeting and greeting the lottery families and welcoming them into her home. And then she found Georgia and August talking with Maxon under a pavilion across from her. She made her way over quickly and smiled broadly at her husband. "Are you joining me, my love?" Maxon asked, pausing their conversation for a moment as she walked up to them.

"Not yet." America said. "But I need to borrow Georgia."

Maxon stuck his lower lip out in a little pout. "Very well."

"Oh, and, um… Kenna's got a sneaking suspicion." America said, with a leading look into Maxon's eyes. He immediately understood. Their little baby secret was impossible to truly contain.

"She's sharp, your sister."

"Mhmm."

"Tell me about it tonight?"

"Balcony?" America suggested. It had been too long since their last evening on their adjoined balcony.

Maxon tugged his ear with a nod, then returned to his conversation with August.

"Can I have you for a moment, Georgia?" America asked.

"Yes, of course." Georgia smiled. She looped arms with America. "This is fun, by the way. All those years August and I were searching for the diaries, we didn't realize they were full of awesome party ideas."

"Pretty much." America nodded.

"Is everything alright, America? You and Maxon seem more secretive than usual."

"Secretive?"

"Well, maybe not _secretive_… But you two definitely have your own language, more than any other couple I know. A lexicon of little looks, tiny touches, and a few random words here or there; none of the rest of us could ever really decipher it. And it seems like you're using it in public a lot more lately."

"We've got a few secrets going on." America confessed. "I want to bring you in on them, though, that's why we're here."

"Really?" Georgia was surprised. She was used to America coming to her for advice on official matters, but America hadn't spoken to her about private matters in a long time. This baby was some odd combination of the two.

"Yes." America said. She gave Georgia essentially the same pitch she'd given Marlee, and received the same enthusiastic response. So now she wouldn't just be sitting in a room alone with Marlee agonizing over this amendment. She officially had enough people to make it a real war council. That was an encouraging start. America let Georgia return to August and continued on her rounds.

The most important attribute of an adviser on a war council is that they're in the Palace often. That way they can attend a plethora of meetings, even on short notice, without it becoming an inconvenience. Georgia and Marlee both met this criteria perfectly, which was good, because Kriss and Elise didn't. Elise would be brought in closer to the announcement of the amendment, once she'd taken her oath and become an official adviser to the King, so that she could help navigate the effect this would have on New Asia. And Kriss' advice and opinions had already proven invaluable in this effort, by giving her the idea to contact Nicoletta and model the amendment after Italy's laws. There would always be room at the table for Kriss, but Kriss wasn't local to the Palace. She lived a couple of hours away. There was just no way to put her on the council, officially.

Now, America could see Adele and the rest of Maxon's family joining the huddle that America's family had started. It was absolutely heartwarming, the way that Maxon's family had welcomed the Singers with open arms. America's mom and Adele were two steps away from best friends, these days. Nothing could have been better for Magda, grieving the loss of her husband, or Adele, grieving the loss of her sister.

America's eyes left her family and swept the party. Guards on the perimeter, alert but still enjoying the beautiful day. Palace staff joking and laughing with each other as they went about their duties keeping the party running smoothly. Stavros in casual clothes over by the dessert table, an eight-year-old girl with a long brown braid tugging on his arm and pointing him towards the cookies.

Wait, what?

America laughed at the image unfolding before her eyes and quickly made her way over to greet her husband's top adviser.

"Stavros, you made it." America grinned, having just watched Stavros sneakily hand a cookie to the girl and say, 'Don't tell grandmother'.

"Your Majesty." Stavros looked up, surprised. He gave her a little bow and the little girl with the long braid, mouth full of cookie, with some chocolate smeared on the corner, sank into the cutest little curtsey America had ever seen in her life.

"Are you enjoying yourself, Stavros?"

"Yes, your Majesty. Thank you so much for the invitation."

"I'm glad you could come. Is your wife here? Your children?"

"My wife is around here, somewhere." Stavros confirmed, "And we've been put in charge of the grandchildren for the day. Our children used this royal invitation as an excuse for an impromptu date night, I'm afraid. They're not here."

"Good for them." America smiled. "But they're missing quite the party."

"Yes, they are. You've done a wonderful job with this, Queen America. I especially admire the way your social calendar keeps with King Maxon's social policy. It's very nice to see a King and Queen work so well together."

"I'm glad you approve." America smiled between Stavros and the child still squeezing his arm. The little girl was gaping up at her, too scared to speak, eyes wide. Stavros had a little smile on his face, too. "This is Cathryn."

"It's very nice to meet you, Cathryn." America offered her a hand to shake, and Cathryn just stared back at it, shocked. America laughed and Stavros knelt down on one knee, with some effort, to be ear-level with the child, "Cat, shake her hand. She doesn't bite, I promise. If she did, I'd have been bitten long ago." That was certainly true. America and Stavros had spent plenty of time on opposing sides of issues since America first came to the Palace. Still, for the moment, they were united in their cause. It was nice to have him as an ally, at last.

Cathryn reached out her hand and placed it in America's quickly, before withdrawing it and hiding it behind her back, nervously.

"She has pictures of you all over her room." Stavros explained. "She and her older sister adore you. Their favorite game is to pretend that they are you and the Lady May on various backyard adventures."

"Grandfather!" Cathryn squeaked, covering her eyes with her free hand, cheeks reddening.

Stavros laughed, "Was I not supposed to say that? Then maybe you should speak for yourself from now on, and not give me the chance to embarrass you?" Cathryn groaned in reply.

From behind them a voice called out, and America turned to see a woman Stavros' age with steel grey hair, cut short and curled in along her jawline, accompanied by two more children. A girl who must have been the twelve year old, and a boy who would have been the ten year old Stavros mentioned back when America had invited them to the egg roll.

"Your Majesty," Stavros said with another little bow, "this is my wife Isla, our eldest granddaughter, Makayla, and our grandson, Ryland."

Makayla's eyes went as round as Cathryn's had, but she did manage a gentle handshake. Ryland, dressed in a lime green soccer jersey, was determined to impress her, and his handshake was firm. He gave a little bow of his head, too, mimicking his grandfather. "How do you do, your Majesty?" he said, trying to make his boyish voice sound deeper than it was.

"Very well, thank you, Ryland." America tried very hard not to laugh at him, but she didn't entirely succeed.

Isla, for her part, was elegant and sophisticated, both in her appearance as well as her speech. She was long and lean, and almost as tall as Stavros, which was an impressive height. She gave a simple, graceful curtsey and said, "Your Majesty." And then she stayed down, waiting to be addressed, following protocol to the letter. Even Silvia would have been impressed.

"I'm very pleased to meet you, Isla." America said. "I've been very curious about the woman clever enough to be Stavros' equal."

"Equal?" Stavros laughed. "She far surpasses me in every way, your Majesty."

It was so odd to see Stavros laughing, in casual clothes, and surrounded by his family. America was glad that he was using the opportunity to relax. He had almost as demanding and taxing a job as Maxon, but with very few of the perks of being King.

"He's just being modest, Your Majesty." Isla rose and smiled warmly over at her husband.

"I wish I had more time to stay and talk." America said, regretfully. She liked seeing this family together, it gave her a real sense of where Stavros came from.

"That's alright, your Majesty." Stavros said, "Although, I would like a private word, if I may."

"Of course." America said, head tilting slightly to the side, curiously. "Isla, it was very nice to meet you. If I invited you for tea sometime soon, would you have room in your schedule to accept?"

"Oh, yes, your Majesty." Isla nodded.

"Good. I could use the help getting your husband to behave." America joked.

"I'll teach you everything I know." Isla winked.

"Cathryn, Makayla, the next time May and I go shopping in town, we are definitely inviting you to join us. We can always use outside opinions on what we buy." Cathryn's grip on her grandfather's arm was now so tight that her knuckles had gone white.

"Thank you, your Majesty." Makayla managed, with a disbelieving blink.

"Ryland, it was a pleasure meeting you-"

"Can I have your brother's autograph?" Ryland blurted out, then clapped a hand over his mouth, hard. He couldn't believe his own nerve.

For a heart-stopping moment, America thought that he meant Kota. Kota was still estranged from the Singer family, and probably always would be. "My brother?"

"Gerad." Ryland clarified, cheeks a bright red color to match Cathryn's.

"Oh." America laughed in relief. Of course he would be partial to Gerad. Gerad was just a little older than he was, but famous. Gerad was good role-model material for this kid. "You could go over and ask him, yourself. He's just across the lawn." Ryland shook his head, furiously. America nodded, understanding his shyness, "I will make sure to set something up." As a rule, they didn't let Gerad give autographs yet. They were trying to shield him from the fame for as long as possible. America wondered if a private soccer lesson from Gerad might not be an acceptable substitute. This kid was wearing a soccer jersey, after all.

"Shall we?" Stravros invited America.

"Not too long, dear." Isla reminded her husband. "You're supposed to be off today."

"I promise." Stavros said. He led America away from the dessert table and back out into the sunny gardens. They journeyed around some hedges until the rest of the party was blocked from sight and then Stavros turned to America and said, "His Majesty formally informed the advisers yesterday." So this was about the baby.

"I thought he was waiting until Monday." America said, surprised. Yesterday had been a Saturday, a weekend, though the advisers tended to work every day of the week. Still, most formal business was conducted Monday through Friday.

"I believe he was simply too excited." Stavros said, a hint of amusement in his tone. America could believe that. He was always anxious to impress the advisers, so if he could both share his exciting news _and_ impress them with his efficiency at creating an heir, he would take full advantage. "I did want to pass along my congratulations."

"Thank you, Stavros." America smiled.

"I do believe that you know what this means for your amendment, however. Our timeline is strict. Pressing. We need to get right to work."

America nodded. "It's not 'my amendment' anymore. It's Maxon's, and it's yours. It's 'our' amendment, now."

"So it is. I would advise meeting at the end of this coming week to coordinate the Palace's agenda for the coming months, until the announcement, at least. Things are going to need to be removed from your schedule, and from his Majesty's, and new items will need to be added."

"I understand."

"You might not like what has to be done."

"I am willing to do anything." America said, firmly.

"Good, that's what I like to hear." Stavros nodded. "I shall be in touch with your office, but I would expect to meet sometime around Friday, or possibly next Monday morning. Those are the first openings in the King's schedule."

"Mine, as well." America said, just thinking of her jam packed schedule for the next week made her tired. She was again wondering why she'd been so stubborn in blatantly refusing her husband's offer to lighten her schedule. She sighed, "But that will give me time to meet with my war council and come into the meeting informed and ready to make decisions."

"Your... war council?" Stavros asked, amused but also impressed.

"Yes, that's right." America nodded.

"Very good then."

"Was that all, Stavros?"

"That was all, your Majesty. I really am very pleased for you and the King."

America smiled as he offered her his arm. "Thank you." She took it and he led them slowly back to the party. "So are you going to stick around to advise this one?" America asked, with a quick glance down. "You have an opportunity, here, to have advised three generations of Illéan leaders. That would have to be some kind of historical record."

"Twenty years from now, I'll be long retired, your Majesty." Stavros chuckled. "But I'll be here in his or her more formative years, whilst he or she is training with King Maxon."

America smiled over at him, happily.

"Your Majesty?" he asked, unsure what the look on her face meant.

"_Or her_. _Or she_." America quoted, happily. "You actually want this amendment, don't you? You're not just going along with Maxon's and my whims?"

"My opinion could not possibly be less relevant, your Majesty, I serve at the pleasure of the King of Illéa." Stavros replied, dutifully. Then he cast her a look out of the corner of his eye and winked at her.

America laughed and squeezed his arm appreciatively.

As badly as America wanted to join Maxon at last and spend this beautiful day with him, she wasn't done greeting guests, and she wasn't done with her secret agenda of assembling her war council. She still had a team to put together, team 'amendment'. Team 'baby, boy or girl, because gender equality is good for everyone'. Team 'screw Gregory Illéa and his messed up vision of a woman's role in a monarchy'.

She spied Silvia hard at work overseeing the crates of fake eggs being brought out and lined up, soon to be hidden. America took a glass of champagne to offer the woman, and began to cross the soft, green grassy lawn to the older woman when Gavril stopped her for a quick interview and a string of compliments about the event. It was amusing, really. She did the whole interview with a glass of champagne in her hand, which would actually help quell any pregnancy rumors for a little while longer. She couldn't have planned it any better. Maxon would be thoroughly amused when she told him about it later tonight, on the balcony.

Finally Gavril released her and she caught up with Silvia, and offered her the glass. "You deserve this. You've outdone yourself, Silvia."

Silvia rose from the deep curtsey she'd sunk into at the sight of America and accepted the glass graciously because, even if she didn't want the champagne, she had to accept anything offered by the Queen of Illéa. It was in the protocol somewhere. "Thank you, your Majesty. This was an excellent idea, and you did very impressive work to make it a reality. I'm pleased I could help."

"Silvia… I don't know what I'd do without you." America said, shaking her head. "Not having Amberly to guide me was a major loss. It could have ruined me, as a queen, rendered me useless, but you were there for me every step of the way. You never left my side, I don't know what would have happened without you. I'm so grateful."

Silvia's cheeks were red as the roses on the bushes around them, and her eyes were wide and watery. "Your Majesty, it is my honor. I assure you."

America smiled. "I know it is. That's because you're a good one, Silvia. Do you know that secret project Maxon and I have been working on?"

"Yes, your Majesty?" By now, most of the castle knew that the King and Queen were working on some kind of secret project, but according to Mary, most of them suspected something to do with the Caste Dissolution Act.

"I'm putting together a council to help me work on it. Would you be willing to join that council? This is the kind of project I could never complete without your help. There's just no way."

A tear fell onto Silvia's clipboard now. "I would be delighted. Anything I can do to help you, your Majesty."

"Good. Thank you. That means a lot to me." Silvia was a force to be reckoned with when she put her mind to something. Even in the Selection, she'd been a powerful ally to have. America was so grateful to have Silvia in her corner for this.

America was about to go off and let Silvia get back to work, when Silvia's wobbly voice called out, "Your Majesty?"

"Yes?"

"She would be proud of you. Queen Amberly. She would be so very, _very_ proud."

It was America's turn to choke up. Her hand flew to her chest, which had grown tight at those words. It was about as close as America would ever come to hearing Amberly, herself, say them. "Thank you."

Silvia nodded her greying blonde hair, copiously sprayed into place, with a curtsey, then cleared her throat, took a long drink, pulled herself together, and went right back to work.

The last person on America's list was Mary. She wanted to do this quickly, before it was time to hide the eggs. She wanted all of her ducks in a row so that she could enjoy the rest of the party. She looked for Mary, organizing the children into rows in front of the orchestra in preparation for the hiding of the eggs. America pulled her aside and said, "How is it going, Mary?"

"Very well, your Majesty. We have a good batch of kids."

America looked around the pavilion. It looked like barely controlled chaos, but she supposed that for a massive group of 100 children aged 14 and under, they were doing very well. "Good. I wanted to speak to you about something, if you have a moment."

"Of course." Mary turned to her, giving America her full attention.

"How's your schedule, Mary? I know that not replacing Anne has meant more work for you."

"I don't mind it, your Majesty." Mary rushed to explain.

"I know that, too. But I want you to be able to take all of your days off, I know that's been a problem in the past."

"Paige is much better now that she has more experience. I've taken all of my days off this year, so far."

"Good. I'm glad." America nodded. "Thank you for training Paige for me."

"Of course, your Majesty!"

"I… well, I might have another one for you to train in the coming weeks, if you approve of her. If things fall into place like I hope they will. Maxon wants me to take on more help, what with… matters."

Mary smiled a beautiful, bright smile. "Yes. Matters." she glanced down at America's tummy, happily. She and Paige had almost been happier than Maxon when she'd broken the news to them.

"Would that be useful? Some more help with me? I know I can be a handful."

"Never, your Majesty." Mary laughed. "But I would be happy to have an extra pair of hands."

"Okay. We'll see how it goes, then."

"Yes." Mary didn't have any way of knowing that America was actually waiting to see how loyal and discrete Esther turned out to be, but she trusted America implicitly.

"Would you have time in your schedule to attend a few meetings with me each week?" America asked, nervously.

"Attend, your Majesty?"

"You… you're very valuable to me, Mary. You mean so much to me. And you have your finger on the pulse of the staff at the Palace. You know what they're saying, gossiping about, experiencing… I'm going to need that, in these meetings."

"Your Majesty, It's not my place—"

"Please? If you have time?"

"I could make time, of course, but I shouldn't."

America sighed, "Anne isn't here to stop us." Sometimes Mary still reacted to situations as if Anne was standing over her shoulder, waiting to chastise her at the first instance of impropriety.

"No." Mary said, sadly.

"Please, Mary. I'm going to need your help."

Mary didn't look comfortable with the idea. In her mind, she was just a six. Still, she wasn't the kind to ignore a direct request from the Queen. "Of course, your Majesty." Mary gave a little bow of her head. "Anything I can do to help you."

America took a long breath of relief. It was as enthusiastic a response as she could have hoped for from Mary, she knew it. This coalition she was putting together was highly unorthodox, nothing like it had ever been seen before. But they were going to attempt to do something that had never been done before, so America had to hope that her brand new war council would be just what was needed. A protocol expert, a rebel, a maid, a fallen angel, and the Queen.

Maxon was waving her down when she returned to mingling with the party guests, so she quickly made her way over to her husband.

"Ames!" Maxon had a huge smile on his face. "My cousins want me to help them hunt for eggs. Can I?"

America smiled, thoroughly amused that he was asking for permission. "You know that means that you can't stroll through the gardens with me while we hide them?"

"I know." He pouted a little and stuffed his hands in his pockets, bouncing on his knees a couple of times.

America nodded, "Alright then. I'll take my garden stroll with my sisters instead."

Maxon's face lit up like the break of dawn. "Thanks, Ames. I'll make it up to you."

She didn't want to tell him that the look on his face was more than enough to make it up to her, because then it might be harder to convince him to go on an ice cream run that night.

Maxon joined the children, and some of the adults like Carter and James who were accompanying young children into the gardens to help them hunt. They were entertained by the musicians, and facing away from the part of the gardens where the eggs would be hidden.

America joined May, Kenna, and Marlee, each with a basket full of colorful, hollow plastic eggs filled with candy or little toys inside. They stayed together in their little pack, gossiping and enjoying the beautiful warm weather as they hid each little egg, working together to invent creative hiding places. Kenna kept giving America 'knowing' looks, but she kept her word about not saying anything.

The kids were adorable, chasing down those eggs, but Maxon was possibly cuter in his enthusiasm. He climbed trees where brave hiders had hidden eggs in high branches and bounded through the gardens with endless energy, handing eggs to Astra, Kile, and his cousins and they thanked him with hugs or, in Astra's case, by latching onto his leg and going for a ride.

America couldn't help herself. She knew Gavril's crew was capturing every moment on film to create a highlights reel for the _Report_, but she ran forward and took Maxon's camera from around his neck so that she could capture a few pictures for their own collection.

She turned the camera on and was utterly unsurprised to see several candids of herself taken earlier that day from Maxon's view of her across the gardens, the most recent one of her on Stavros' arm, laughing. Now it was her turn to snap a few of Maxon.

Kenna came over and looked past America's shoulder at the images she was snapping. "He looks good."

"Doesn't he?" America agreed, smiling.

"Is he excited?" Kenna asked, quietly. She was asking about the baby.

America nodded nervously, and tried not to be too specific with her answer in case anyone could hear them. "I never understood the expression 'overjoyed' until seeing Maxon getting ready for this… thing. He's brimming over with joy."

Kenna wrapped America in a tight hug. "He's going to be good at this."

If 'this' meant 'fatherhood', America had to agree. "They say that… this," America glanced down at her waist, "is the best thing I'll ever do."

"It is." Kenna assured her. "Though it will have stiffer competition with you than Astra had with me. I haven't done anything else with my life, to speak of, and you've already changed the world."

America clasped Kenna's hand with her own. "I just can't help but think that, as good as this little… thing is going to be for me, seeing Maxon experience… it, is going to be even better."

Kenna beamed over at her, then pressed a kiss to her temple just below the golden crown. "I'm so happy for you, Ames. You need to call me when you have time so that we can gloat about this. I'm always here for you, you know that, right?"

"I know." America said. "I'm sure I'll have a million questions, once I've had more time to process. It's only been a couple of days."

Kenna squeezed her into one more hug, and together they watched Maxon lead a parade of cheering children all through the gardens on a quest for candy and toys. America couldn't help but think that one year from now, Maxon would be cradling their brand new baby in his arms, offering it brightly colored eggs to practice holding, its motor skills still slowly developing. And that baby would be the future King or, God willing, Queen of Illéa. America took a deep breath and let it out, slowly. It would be a long road, from here to there.


	13. Chapter 13

It was monumentally unfair that, the morning after such a massive social success on such a massive scale, America and Maxon had to get right back to work bright and early. To be fair, Mary had to be at work earlier, and Silvia had to be at work at roughly the same time, but that wasn't the point, at least not to America and Maxon.

They had been so wiped out the night before that, no sooner did they stumble out to the balcony and finally have a moment to get off their feet and sit down together, than did America fall fast asleep on Maxon's chest and Maxon fall asleep to the rhythm of her warm breath puffing softly against his chest each time she exhaled. Avery, who was standing guard at their door for the evening, had to wake them up and insist that they go back inside at midnight, when it ceased to be safe to be out of doors.

Maxon was very grouchy about it that Monday morning while he, zombie like, searched for a tie to match his suit. As a prince, he'd had a butler dress him every day, but as the King he tended to dress himself, relishing the extra time alone with his wife. America, who had far more to do involving hair and makeup, got herself started by choosing her outfit for the day (she had outfits in both of their rooms because sometimes the Queen's suite was simply too far away from Maxon) and waited to summon Mary or Paige until the last possible moment.

They weren't really forming coherent speech throughout breakfast, they mostly stared, bleary eyed, into space while chewing their toast. However, America received a note from Maxon an hour later, when she was halfway through the Monday morning rundown with a distinctly run-down looking Silvia.

_'My Love,  
__You fell asleep during our balcony date (so did I). I demand a re-date. Tonight?  
__-M'_

America penned her response and handed it to the attendant maid, who was a young, pretty brunette named Jolie. Esther, apparently, had the day off.

_'M,  
__This is quite the inconvenience. It is not my fault that you were so boring, you put me to sleep. I shall require a blatant bribe to convince me to reorganize my schedule.  
__\- Your Love'_

Silvia could hardly contain the roll of her eyes, though she did manage to do it in the end, when Maxon's reply arrived. It was just Jolie with an ornate golden tea plate containing a single strawberry tart. "The King sent this for you, your Majesty."

America smiled, surprised to find that she was hungry for it. Breakfast had only been an hour and a half earlier, after all. "Thank you, Jolie. Please tell his Majesty that I'm tugging my ear, then."

"You're tugging your ear, then?" Jolie asked, confused. Like she might have misheard.

"I'm tugging my ear, then." America nodded.

"Yes, your Majesty." Jolie curtsied and left.

America returned to the task at hand, dividing up the thank you notes between those she would write personally, and those she would sign after one of Silvia's assistants wrote them. This kept her from having to personally write over a hundred thank you's for over a hundred different families. Even so, America ended up unable to meet with Maxon for lunch, as she and Silvia worked to tally the total cost of the egg roll and prove that they'd brought it in under-budget. As soon as they did, Maxon's finance adviser would be able to make the final decision on whether or not there was room in next year's budget for another springtime inter-caste egg roll. This would be the true mark of their success. Throwing one good party is nice, but making it a yearly tradition is even better, especially for inter-caste relations.

Maxon didn't get out of work until after ten o'clock that night. America was waiting for him on the balcony, reclined in her chair. She hadn't needed the soft, pale blue silk dressing gown that night, it was perfectly warm enough for her to simply lie there and bask in the starlight in nothing but her white nightie.

When Maxon finally made his appearance, his hair was mussed, his tie limp and loose around his neck, his top few buttons undone, his sleeves rolled up above his elbows, and his jacket slung over his arm. He looked absolutely exhausted.

"Oh, Maxon." America laughed a little at the pathetic state of him. "We can reschedule, honey."

"No, please." He shook his head, tiredly. "I've been looking forward to this all day."

"Alright then." America scooted over in her chair to make room for him. "I gave Mary an early night. She's worn out."

"Good."

"There's no one to disturb us." America sighed, happily. As Maxon slid wearily in beside her, she said, "When I was in the Selection, I hated the rule that kept the third floor private to the royal family. It seemed like one more in a long list of obstacles keeping me from you." Maxon kissed her, and though she always got a kiss at the end of the day from him (if she was awake when he got in), this one felt more like one of his apology kisses. Sometimes he'd kiss her, and it was like he was still apologizing for all of the difficulty they'd had in the early days of their relationship. For all the times he'd sought solace with Celeste or used his relationship with Kriss to spite America. For all the dumb teenager-y mistakes he'd made. "Maxon-" she began, reproachfully. She never wanted him to feel guilty about the way the Selection had gone. Not when she was the one who had kept him at bay for so long, overly-cautious after the number Aspen had done on her heart.

"Was there a 'but'?" Maxon asked, brightly. He was uninterested in her reproach.

"There was a 'but'." America nodded. "But now, I completely understand the rule keeping outsiders off of our floor, and I embrace it, and I wish we could extend it to the rest of the Palace and, indeed, the rest of Illéa."

Maxon chuckled and settled her onto his chest. "How was your day, my love?" he asked.

"Painful." America winced. "I signed our names no less than twelve thousand million times."

"You forged my signature twelve thousand million times? Good Lord."

"At least. I lost count at twelve thousand million and one." She felt him press a kiss to the top of her hair. "Remember my demand for infinite massages once I was pregnant?"

"Yes."

"Hand massage, please." America said, placing her right hand on Maxon's chest. He took it in his own and began to gently rub her palm, and all the little grooves between the bones in her hand.

"Ames, is that a bruise?" he asked, surprised, studying her hand carefully.

"Yes, it is. I bruised my hand, signing and writing thank you notes."

He kissed her palm gently, then continued to massage it with one hand while his other hand traced her spine. "You should tell Silvia soon. About the baby. She'll go easier on you, once you do."

"I don't want her to go easier on me. I wouldn't be half the Queen I am without her constantly pushing me to be better."

"I recognize the importance of dedication and persistance." Maxon said. "However, it might not be a question of what you want so much as what you need to keep this baby happy and healthy. Don't forget that being pregnant is your most important job right now."

"Don't say it that way." America shuddered. "It sounds so much less personal, less human. I know my job as Queen of Illéa is to bring this baby to term in the least complicated manner possible-"

"That's not what I meant." Maxon said, surprised. "That's how the advisers talk, not me."

"Oh. I thought they'd rubbed off on you." America said.

"No, I meant that being pregnant, making our little baby, is the most important thing you're doing right now. Way more important than thank you notes or balancing party budgets."

"You know what?" America said, surprised. "I agree." Maxon smirked a little, because that was dangerously close to a 'Yes, honey, you're right' which were four words he almost never heard in one sentence together. "I'll tell Silvia this week, don't worry. I was planning on it anyway." They lay still in comfortable silence and admired the stars. "How was your day, Maxon? What were you working on so late?"

"Eugh." He winced at the thought of it. "Remember when I mentioned that the Chancellor of the German Federation was looking to renegotiate our brand new trade agreement?"

"Mhmm."

"Well, now I know why, and I rather wish I didn't."

"Something dreadful?"

"They've had a little economic collapse over there, due in large part to predatory lenders convincing a surprisingly high number of German citizens to take out loans for luxury goods, then making those loans impossible to pay off. There's been a huge spike in unemployment and bankruptcy and they're working on getting it sorted out. The details aren't really important, I suppose. But to make the long story short, they've got the highest poverty levels they've seen this century, which means starving citizens. She was trying to renegotiate the tarrifs on food we import to the German Federation to make it more accessible to her people."

"We should do that, that sounds good." America said. "We can't tax people who can't afford to eat, Maxon, that's not right."

"I agree." Maxon said. "But without that tax revenue, our coffers are going to be significantly lighter. And we need that money for our social endeavors, or the Caste Dissolution Act is never going to hold up. What's the point of the large workforce of former Eights and current Sevens we have assembled to improve our infrastructure, if we don't have the money for the construction projects? They would be out of work, then our citizens would be hungry."

"But Maxon, if the citizens of the German Federation are really that badly off, then they're not going to be able to pay the tarriff anyway. Either way, we're not getting the money. It's just a question of if we'll let them starve or eat while we're busy not getting the money."

"And you say you're not ready to attend my finance meetings." Maxon smiled down at her, but it was a weary smile.

"Nah, I'm ready, I just don't really want to go." America smiled back up at him.

"As you can tell, it's a mess." Maxon sighed. "I'd much rather talk about something else. Did you and Silvia finish the finance report on the Palace egg roll?"

"Yes." America sighed. "We came in just barely under budget."

"Good job, Ames!" Maxon said, impressed.

"Thanks."

"It was a great event. I've never seen castes mingle like that."

"Hmm. That would be because they were people, Maxon. Not castes."

Maxon almost rolled his eyes. "That's not what I meant, America, and you know it. I meant that I've never seen such a successful integration of people between castes. Everyone was interacting, especially the kids. Those kids had no idea who belonged to which caste. They were just out having fun, looking for candy, and making new friends. It was great."

"Yeah." America nodded. "That was really nice. I kind of wish my family had set a better example, but other than that-"

"Better example? What do you mean?"

"They spent most of their time talking with a family of Fives. I get why they gravitated together, they have a lot in common. I just wish they could have... bonded with a family from a different caste than ours."

"They did." Maxon said, abruptly. "Your family are Ones. They bonded with Fives."

"Maxon," America complained, "We're Fives and you know it."

"No, I don't know that." he said, letting her hand drop. She leant up so that she could look at him, confused about why he was upset.

"Maxon-"

"You're Ones, America. I don't like to hear you talk like you and I never married. Like I've had no effect on your life whatsoever."

"That's not what I meant, Maxon." America chastised. "You think I could somehow forget what an impact you've had on my life? You think that, every time I sit down to an enormous, luxurious meal here, I don't remember my life before you? Remember trying to fall asleep in agony because my stomach ached with hunger?"

"Of course you remember. Which is why you should also remember the difference, and remember that you're a One now, and so are they. You're different now than you were in Carolina, America, you talk about it all the time."

"So?"

"So all I was trying to do was admire your skill at intergrating social policy and the Palace event calandar, and instead I got slapped across the face with you blatantly pretending like I've done nothing for you."

"That's what remembering where I came from, and the foundation of who I am, means to you? My identifying with the caste I was raised in is a sign of disrespect to you?"

"It is when you identify with it more than the caste you're in now." he said. "It would be like telling everyone that your last name is Singer, now that it's Schreave. It's hurtful."

"If I'd wanted to keep my last name, that wouldn't have had anything to do with you, Maxon! I'd never have married you if I had some problem with you that made me not want to take your last name. Changing a name is a personal choice-"

"If you'd never changed it, I'd completely agree. Call yourself whatever you want, as long as you also call yourself my wife. But you did change your name. And you changed castes."

"Well, I'm sorry, oh King of Kings for not heaping upon you enough praise for your magnanimous bequeathal-"

"Oh, shut up." Maxon said, sliding out from under her and standing up.

"No, really, your Majesty, your _Majesticness_, I am in awe of your charity, elevating a mere commoner like myself and permitting me to share your bedchambers-" Maxon slammed the door to his room behind him.

America sighed, frustratedly. That hadn't gone very well.

She sat on the balcony for another minute but it quickly became clear that she was done with the stars for the evening. The view just wasn't the same without her husband to keep her company.

She had that familiar feeling of tightness in her chest that she associated with fighting with Maxon. It was dreadful, slow-burning, and heavy. Any time Maxon was unhappy with her, for whatever reason, that feeling followed her around. It was with her while she brushed her teeth, while she combed her hair and removed her makeup. It followed her into bed and laid with her where Maxon should have been. If she and Maxon didn't resolve it, it would follow her to breakfast and attend all of her meetings the next day. It would occupy her constantly until they made up.

She tossed and turned in bed, but as tired as she was, sleep would not come. Maxon was, apparently, experiencing the same problem, because sometime after midnight he knocked lightly on the door separating their bedrooms and then tiptoed into her bed, pulling her back flush to his front.

"You're a One." Maxon whispered into her ear.

"Yes, I am." America nodded. "And a Schreave."

"But I can only guess at how strange it is, balancing the life you had before the Palace with your life as the Queen."

"Strange and confusing and... sometimes I misidentify." America nodded. "Sometimes I still feel like a Five. And I know that's how my family identifies... maybe not May."

"No, she's all One, isn't she?"

America sighed, then turned to look at him. "I love you."

"I love you, too."

"Thanks for choosing me."

"You chose me, too." Maxon reminded her.

"Is that what love is? Even for people like 'Max' and 'Mer'? Normal people? Is love the act of choosing each other?"

"I don't know. It's possible to choose and not be chosen." Maxon yawned.

"Like I very nearly was. I chose you and you almost chose Kriss."

"I _never_ would have chosen Kriss." Maxon shook his head.

This was a revelation to America. "Why not? You loved her."

"...I loved her. I still do. But I was never _in_ love with her. I could have lived with her and been pleasantly occupied all the days of my life, if I'd never met you. But I did meet you, and that changed everything, and even though it scared me, it excited me, too. I never would have chosen Kriss, even without the rebel attack. I'd have knelt down in front of her, seen you standing right behind her, and I'd have sent her home."

"Really?"

"I've thought about it a lot." Maxon nodded, his nose bobbing against her cheek. "I knew I was your choice, even though I had a lot of questions about what, exactly, was going on with Aspen. I still knew I was your choice, and I knew you were mine. I never would have let you get away. I never would have chosen Kriss."

America sighed, the weight in her chest from her spat with Maxon already long gone, in its place, a warm balloon. They lay there like that for several quiet, snuggly minutes until America heard Maxon's breath even out. He was on the very brink of sleep.

"Maxon?" she whispered. She wanted to mess with him a little, just a little tiny punishment for letting his ego ruin their date night.

"Hm?"

"I want eggs."

"Tell Mary in the morning." he mumbled, it was barely coherent.

"...I want eggs now."

"Then go get them." he yawned, releasing his hold on her.

"...You won't go get them for me?"

"Nah. Sleeping." His face was smushed against her pillow, adorably distorting his words.

"Maxon?"

"Hm?"

"...The baby wants eggs."

This time he opened one eye and peeked at her. "Seriously?"

"Mhmm."

"You can't wait six hours, until breakfast?"

"I'm hungry now. For eggs."

"But Ames... Eggs are in the kitchens."

"Yeah."

"The kitchens are far away."

"I know." America sighed, as if wistful. "Never mind. I'll go, myself." She tossed her large, puffy duvet off of her body and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Just before her feet made it to the floor, though, Maxon's hand wrapped around her wrist to stay her.

"You won't call Mary?"

"I sent her to bed."

"Mmm." Maxon sighed. Then he sat up. "Eggs for my Queen."

America narrowed her eyes at him. "Really?"

"Really. How do you want them cooked?"

America smiled a little and leant in until her nose was touching his. "Maxon?"

"Hm?"

"I'm messing with you."

"What?"

"This was a test, you passed."

"A test?" he demanded, childishly.

"Yeah, I don't really have any pregnancy cravings yet. I was just messing with you."

"America." Maxon collapsed back down into her bed. "I'm exhausted. That was cruel."

"You're a good man, Maxon." America said, snuggling down onto his chest. She let a couple of minutes pass in silence. "Of course, now I really do want eggs."

"What?"

"Talking about them this much, it made me want them."

"...Yeah. Me, too." Maxon sat up, pecked her on the lips, and then headed off to the kitchens. It wasn't exactly a balcony date, but they enjoyed their little midnight picnic all the same. Maxon lit one of her candles and made eyes at her the whole time and everything.

When Mary came in the next morning, she found the King and Queen of Illéa curled up together, passed out on the floor with a burnt out candle, two empty plates and two used forks lying next to them.


	14. Chapter 14

America sat in her newly renovated office with the brand new doors to Maxon's office swung wide open. Now, from her desk, all she had to do was look up to see Maxon's desk mirroring hers, and Maxon looking right back at her. He was at a meeting, however, so America sat in silence, carefully penning four nearly identical notes on four small pieces of letterhead that read, across the top in elegant, gold embossed engraving, '_From the desk of the Queen of Ill__é__a_'.

_'Lady Marlee,  
__The honor of your presence is requested in conference room C at 10 o'clock tomorrow morning, Wednesday, the 30th of April.  
__With w__armest regards,  
__Queen America Schreave'_

She'd copied the wording almost verbatim from the notes Maxon sent out to his advisers when he called a meeting of one of his war councils. Still, it felt entirely weird to be addressing Marlee so formally, even in writing. Mary and Georgia, too, for that matter; both of their names sat atop two notes of their own. Silvia would tell her that the formality was necessary when addressing her friends as Queen of Illéa and not merely as 'America'. Respect for the office of Queen demanded this level of formality, and if there was one thing in this world America had respect for, it was the office of Queen. She spent every day of every week trying to do right by Amberly, trying to take care of this position that Amberly had worn so well.

There was a brisk knock, and America looked up in time to see a guard open the outer door and for Silvia, herself, to appear and curtsey quickly. "Your Majesty?"

"Thank you for coming." Silvia straightened up and crossed to America's desk as the guard closed the door behind her.

"It was no trouble at all, your Majesty, I was already in this wing attending to a few décor changes."

"Are we getting new décor in this wing?" America asked, mildly surprised. As Queen, she would usually have been informed about and involved in this kind of decision.

"We're rotating a few paintings in the hallways. There are different paintings for times of peace than there are for times of war, and we're still rotating out the war paintings."

"Hm. I thought these hallways seemed less menacing lately. I'd hoped I was just getting used to them, maybe growing more confident as Queen."

"I'm sure that's true, too, your Majesty." Silvia hurried to reassure her. America smiled at this. Silvia had been very close with Amberly, and very happy working with her, but America liked to hope that Silvia was just as happy now. America and Maxon certainly tried to show her more respect and consideration than she'd known under Clarkson's rule.

"Thank you, Silvia." America took a sip from the glass of water that Maxon insisted she have with her at all times, now. "I won't take up too much of your time. Maxon and I would like to invite you to dinner next week."

"I am happy to accept, your Majesty." Silvia smiled ever so slightly. They'd done a few of these dinners now, and it always worked out well for America because she got to hear stories about Maxon's childhood straight from the woman whose job it had been to keep him from yawning in the middle of greeting foreign dignitaries, or playing hide-and-seek in the throne room. Last time, America had gotten a fantastic story about Maxon, aged 8, trying to take apart one of the video cameras used to tape the _Report_ out of pure fascination with the lenses, only to dissolve into loud, inconsolable tears when he realized that he couldn't put it back together again, which was how Silvia, in her very first week as the Queen's social secretary, found him.

"Good, I'm looking forward to it." America smiled, wondering what stories she'd be treated to this time. "I also wanted your opinion on these notes. Do they look right?" America passed the stack of small, thick, freshly inked notes to Silvia.

Silvia read the one addressed to Marlee quickly, then flipped through to check that they were all the same. Her eyes lingered for a moment on the one with her own name at the top. "These look very good, your Majesty, I wouldn't change a thing."

"Good." America held out her hand and Silvia handed them back. America extracted Silvia's note and handed it to her. "That one's for you."

Silvia considered it, looking at it carefully. "This is about that project that you mentioned to me last weekend, your Majesty?"

"Yes, it is."

"A policy project?"

"Very much so."

"I've never assisted on policy before."

"Neither have Marlee, Mary, or Georgia." America pointed out.

Silvia nodded, not entirely reassured. Still, she collected her thoughts and carried on. "Very well, then."

"That's all, Silvia, I'll let you get back to work."

"Yes, your Majesty." Silvia curtseyed again. "I'll see you tomorrow morning at 10:00."

"Good." America smiled, watching her leave.

* * *

Paige came in to get America ready the next morning, this was definitely a black slacks, hair up day; and then America and Maxon had breakfast with Marlee, Carter, and Kile.

"Gee, America." Marlee giggled, pecking America's cheek in greeting when they arrived at the dining room. "When we talked about skipping work sometime this week, I had no idea we'd be taking our families with us."

"Yeah, but they're good eye candy." America joked, winking at Maxon who smirked right back at her. "We have handsome boys."

It had been a while since the Woodworks and the Schreaves had found the time to sit down and break bread together without anyone else around. It was simple and nice, the conversation was easy and there was a lot of laughter, given the early hour.

"No coffee, Ames?" Marlee asked, surprised. "Isn't that normally one of your mainstays?"

It was true. Ever since that very first, very late meeting between Maxon, America, Georgia, and August when Maxon had ordered coffee to help wake them all up, America had developed a penchant for coffee. If she had to choose between coffee (with cream and sugar) or sleep, she'd choose coffee every time. But Dr. Ashlar had sent over a long list of dietary restrictions to consider when planning meals, and high doses of caffeine, including coffee and some teas, were totally out.

"Normally." America said. "But Maxon and I are changing a few things."

"Like what?" Marlee asked, curiously.

"We're remodeling the third floor, for a start." Maxon smiled. It was true, he'd already drafted a plan for turning the empty bedroom next to the Queen's suite into a nursery.

"Cutting out caffeine, undercooked meats, soft cheeses, alcohol…" America smiled.

"Whoa." Carter said. "You're both cutting out alcohol?"

"Well… America is." Maxon smiled over at his wife and wrapped an arm around her.

Marlee's fork hit her plate, and her hands flew to cover her mouth as she rushed to finish chewing her previous bite. She obviously knew, and she was squirming in her seat as she worked to clear her mouth of omelet so that she could finally speak. "You're pregnant!" she exclaimed with a gulp, almost shouting.

"Shh!" America laughed, looking around. They hadn't put a guard on duty outside the dining room that morning because Carter was going to be eating with them. America was glad, now, for that foresight. She opened her arms wide and before she knew it she had two arms full of bouncing blonde girl.

She could hear, rather than see, Carter come over and shake Maxon's hand. "Congratulations, Maxon. This is great news." Carter's voice said. One look around Marlee's head to Maxon, and America's heart overflowed with happiness. Maxon was absolutely shining with happiness that morning.

Marlee waited out in the hall with Carter, who would be on duty outside of the King's and Queen's offices that morning. Maxon kept his fingers laced with America's until the very last possible moment. "Are you sure you don't want me to go to the meeting?" Maxon asked.

"They're _my _council, Maxon. I want to be the highest ranking person in the room." she winked at him. But she was nervous, and he knew it.

"Remember, this is just to introduce them to the concept of our amendment, and maybe brainstorm a few ideas to boost our poll numbers. This isn't… which region of New Asia to bomb next or which of the rebel's strategic resources to cut off. This shouldn't be too stressful."

He wasn't belittling her war council, although it might have sounded that way to an outsider. America knew that he was just putting things into perspective for her so that she wouldn't get worked up or overwhelmed. He kissed her forehead. "Thanks, Maxon."

"I'll be in my office if you need me."

"You'd better not have Maxwell spy on us!" America laughed as he walked towards the doors that divided their offices. Maxwell was going to be the guard on duty outside of the conference room where America's meeting was being held. Maxon had a reasonably close relationship with all of the guards who had rotations directly protecting America or himself.

"I may or may not." he shrugged, and then closed both doors behind him with a flourish. America laughed, endlessly amused by and in love with her husband. She gathered up the documents for the meeting with a sigh, gathered up her courage, and then stepped back into the hall. Carter seemed to be flirting with Marlee, but when America appeared, they both snapped to attention.

"Ready to go?" America asked.

"Yeah, we'd better." Marlee smiled. "We wouldn't want to be late. The Queen would be furious with us."

"Right? She could have us sent to prison for disrespecting her like that." America shuddered, then looped an arm through Marlee's.

* * *

Marlee sat placidly in her seat, waiting for the others to arrive. America paced back and forth at the head of the long conference table, going over and over the information in the packets that she was about to distribute to her council. It was the same data that Stavros had given Maxon and her, and she knew it all by heart, but she wanted to go over it just a few more times, to make sure that she was ready. She had the horrible feeling that she was about to butcher this meeting, Caste-removal-suggesting-_Report_ style, and she didn't want to have to tell Maxon that she was a failure as a leader. She needed to get this right, to reaffirm Maxon's choice to make her Queen, and also for the child currently growing in her body, who would benefit endlessly, regardless of its gender, from being born into a world where women are valued and respected on a level with men.

At exactly 10:00, the doors to the conference room opened again, and Silvia, Georgia, and Mary walked in. Mary looked extremely uncomfortable, keeping to the back of the group and visibly fighting off the urge to fetch a tea tray.

"Thank you all for coming." America greeted them as the door closed with an ominous thud behind them. No going back now.

There were name cards for each of them, so they'd know where the Queen desired them to sit. America had given the seating arrangement more thought than was reasonable, in the last couple of days, and settled on seating Silvia directly to her right, and Marlee in the seat to Silvia's right so that Silvia would be sitting next to someone with whom she worked regularly and with whom she was comfortable. And it might be good for Marlee's career to spend more time with Silvia, since Silvia would be the one deciding when Marlee got her next promotion.

To America's left, she put Mary because she wanted to keep a close eye on her Head of Staff. Mary wasn't likely to speak up very often in these meetings, but if it looked like she had something to say, America didn't want to miss it. Georgia would be seated to Mary's left, because she was vocal and unafraid to speak her mind, so having her a little farther away wouldn't cause too much of a problem. Also, America was hoping that Georgia would be less intimidating for Mary to sit by than Marlee or Silvia who both oozed decorum and 'lady'ness. Even so, they still only took up a quarter of the conference table, as there were only five of them,

When the others arrived, Marlee had jumped to her feet. Now they all stood, waiting for America to take her seat and start the meeting.

America was regretting refusing Maxon's offer for him to attend this meeting now. She was all jitters and nerves and one look from him could have calmed a lot of that for her. It was like in the old days during the Selection, when she was feeling nervous on the _Report _and she used to try to catch his eye, to center herself. America was just going to have to get through this meeting on her own. She cleared her throat, took her seat, and watched as the others followed suit.

"Um… How… How was everyone's morning?" America asked.

There were two 'very well's, a 'fine', and a 'wonderful' from Marlee, but at the end America was greeted with a unison chorus of 'your Majesty's.

"I don't want you to feel the need to use titles when we're meeting." America said, quickly. "If you prefer them, then obviously, I would never stop you. I just don't want them to get in the way of the work we're going to be doing in here. Call me, and each other, whatever you like." She had a feeling Mary and Silvia would be sticking pretty hard to the 'your Majesty', but maybe this would allow Georgia and Marlee some more flexibility.

America took a deep breath and dove in. "Right. Okay. Well, I guess the first order of business for this war council is… for me to inform you, officially, that… I am pregnant." she said. Mary and Marlee knew, and grinned excitedly. Georgia dashed up from her chair to run over and hug America tightly. "Congratulations. This is such good news."

"Because it puts one more person between August and the throne?"

Georgia laughed, "For starters. Oh, America… this is wonderful. Absolutely wonderful."

When Georgia moved to return to her seat, America peeked over at Silvia. The oldest woman in the room, with more experience in this castle and with this monarchy than anyone else in this castle or in this monarchy, had a blush to her cheeks and a restrained smile on her face. Her eyes sparkled, and even looked a little misty as she said, "Congratulations, your Majesty… I'm just… I'm absolutely thrilled for you, and for King Maxon."

"Thank you, Silvia."

"I take it this is a recent development?" Silvia enquired.

"Very recent. We're still at least two months out from an official public announcement."

Silvia nodded, then dug out her thick black leather daily planner from her bag and made a note. "We should meet to discuss your schedule."

"Early next week." America nodded.

"Tuesday?"

"Perfect." America nodded, then returned to the business at hand. "Well, so, that's out of the way. Maxon and I are going to have a baby, and we're working on getting the Kingdom in order before it arrives."

"Hmm." Georgia said.

"What is it?" America asked, pleased that her choice to seat Georgia slightly farther away was paying off. Georgia was having no trouble contributing from where she sat.

"August hinted that Maxon seems to be approaching the rebel problem with a little more zeal lately. I'll bet this is why."

"I wouldn't be surprised." America said. She hadn't noticed Maxon's renewed focus, but she was rarely invited to security briefings, which was where they discussed the rebel attacks. Maxon didn't like to worry her. "There's a lot on our minds, getting ready for this baby. But the most important thing, to both of us, is our little side project. We've been working on this for a couple of months now, and we've just gotten the go ahead from Maxon's top adviser, Stavros, to proceed."

"What is this side project, America?" Marlee looked over at her, curiously.

"I'm glad you asked, Marls. If you'll all open your folders to the second page and give it a read, I think you'll see." America encouraged. She watched, stomach in nauseated knots, as they opened their slick black folders and flipped past the title page stamped 'Classified Level 1' in red ink.

She had memorized what they were reading.

'_All natural born Princes and Princesses of Ill__é__a shall henceforth and evermore be looked upon as perfect equals in eyes of the law; the duties, obligations, responsibilities, and privileges befitting the natural born Princes and Princesses of Ill__é__a shall never be altered nor infringed upon on the basis of gender.__'_

She and Maxon had incorporated Stavros' alterations to their first draft.

Marlee and Mary both had their brows wrinkled, struggling to comprehend the enormity of what they were reading. Silvia had a frown on her face, her eyes darting back and forth, over and over, as she read and reread the amendment draft.

Georgia was the first to vocally respond. "Hot damn, America. Is this real?"

"This is real." America nodded. "This is the prize, ladies. No more swapping daughters with foreign nations like some kind of human trafficking flea market."

"And the potential for a Queen." Georgia said. "A real, live Queen."

"I'm a real live Queen." America objected, with a smirk.

"'Natural born' then, as this amendment puts it."

"Exactly." America nodded. "If Maxon and I have a daughter first—"

"She could be Queen." Marlee exhaled, stunned.

"Do you have any idea how much we Northern rebels used to complain about the Laws of Inheritance?" Georgia asked, leaning back in her chair, amused and impressed. "If there had been a Princess of Illéa in our time, we'd have made it one of our rallying cries."

"Well, I've made it one of my rallying cries." America said. "And so has Maxon. The Laws of Inheritance were put into place by Gregory Illéa to solidify his rule, and they've only been altered a handful of times since their inception. And only to reaffirm the Schreaves, once they… um, I mean, _we_ took over." That felt odd. That felt really weird. 'We' and 'Schreaves'.

"So it's time to pay some attention to these laws." Marlee said. "To make sure they're still working in the best interest of our country, now that our country has changed so much?"

"Exactly." America said, with a nod. Then she peeked over at Silvia. "You got quiet on me, Silvia. Are you still onboard? I know it's 'not the done thing', as I have been told on numerous occasions."

"It's _not_ the done thing." Silvia agreed.

America nodded. She'd guessed that she'd run into this problem with Silvia. "If you want out, just say the word." America didn't want anyone at this table who did not believe in the amendment. "I know you have more than enough on your schedule, as it is."

Silvia read over and over the paragraph in front of her, nodding her head slowly, her face inscrutable. Then she looked up at America and said, "This is perfect."

"It is?" America asked, relieved and surprised.

"I would have expected nothing less from you, Queen America."

"Thanks, Silvia." America breathed. Then she turned to her left. "Mary?"

Mary paled at being called out like this and her eyes sank to her lap, where her fingers toyed with the hem of her black dress. "Yes, your Majesty?"

"What do you think of this amendment?"

"I think it's very brave, your Majesty." Mary said, without a moment's hesitation. "And very risky."

"You're right about that." America nodded. "Do you want to help me try to make it a reality?"

"I… I want to serve you in any way that I can." Mary said. It was a maid's answer.

"I don't need service, Mary, not for this. I need _help_. I need a team, working _with_ me, not behind me."

"I'm sorry, your Majesty… I just _still_ don't see how I can help you."

America considered her closely for a moment. In this case, it would be so much easier to show her than to tell her all the ways in which she could help. It would take too long to convince her with words. "Then I am asking you to trust me, Mary."

"Trust you?"

"Trust me when I tell you that your thoughts and advice are going to prove invaluable to me, even if you can't see it now. Just trust me. Please."

Mary nodded, cheeks flushing. "Of course, your Majesty."

"Thank you. So Mary, is this the kind of project that you want to _help_ me with?"

"Yes, your Majesty. I think all of us in this room have benefited from your kindness, your generosity, and your unorthodox spirit." Mary said, looking around the table. "And so it wouldn't be very wise of us not to support those traits in you, now that you need our help."

America smiled at this, considering it. "That's good enough for me." She'd probably get more of Mary's true feelings on the subject when they were alone.

America turned her attention back to the rest of the group, "Please turn the page, ladies."

There was a lot to explain, mostly to do with opinion polls and statistics and the impossible task Stavros had laid out for them. If Maxon and America wanted to safely enact this amendment without threatening their rule, or the rule of their child (boy or girl), they needed to get their combined approval ratings up to 75%, and they needed to do it before America gave birth so that this law could protect the baby she was already carrying. From the looks on their faces, Georgia seemed to think 75% to be an outrageous number, while Marlee and Silvia took more of a grave, serious, thoughtful approach to the number, and Mary seemed to be wondering if such a thing was even possible. When America showed them the statistic that mentioned that only 30% of Illéans would support a princess inheriting the Throne of Illéa over a prince, there was a physical shift in the room. Shoulders visibly slumped under the weight of that news.

"So you can see why I need your help." America concluded, looking around at the four of them. "Maxon has been working on assembling a war council to meet and discuss the strategy for getting those numbers up, but… this is going to take a monumental effort, no one's ever done what we're trying to do before, either with the numbers or with this kind of amendment, and I want my own team working on it with me. That's why you're here."

Silence swept through the room. Silvia was flipping through the pages of her packet, eyes narrowed, her analytical and mathematically oriented mind going to work. Marlee was staring at the page with the 30% statistic, eyes glazed. Georgia wasn't even looking at the packet, she was staring off into space, and Mary was peering over at America, patiently.

"Mary?" America asked.

"Where do we start?" Mary asked.

America sighed, that was a very good question. "Well, Maxon and I are meeting with his council next Monday. You guys are definitely going to be a part of some of those meetings, but I want to go to this first one alone, just so I can get a feel for how they run." Mary didn't seem overly excited to attend a King's council meeting. Her training was, after all, as a lady's maid, and she'd always been a Six. "So, today, I just wanted to show you all what we're going to be working on over the next… eight months… ish…and see if you have any ideas about raising those numbers." America said.

"These numbers always raise when the royal family is expecting a child." Marlee said.

"Stavros mentioned that. We're going to need more than just my occupied womb space to get us where we're trying to go, though." America said.

"Usually, there's more access to the royal family when they're expecting a child." Silvia said. "That's part of the equation that leads to the bump in the polls."

"You're talking about the video specials that run on the _Report_?" America asked. "Designing the nursery, Maxon preparing for fatherhood, that kind of thing?"

"Yes."

"Stavros mentioned those, too."

"That will really promote a bond with this child, your Majesty. If the people feel connected to it, they'll be more likely to support it as their next King _or_ Queen."

"Okay, so… what should I do?" America asked.

"Really lean into it, when the time comes. Make the segments longer and more frequent, and devote your energy to making them _fantastic_." Silvia said, almost breathlessly.

"It sounds like you should be captain of the video segments." America said, amused. "We can't do any of them for another two months though, so keep brainstorming ideas and making plans, but keep that on the back burner. We have to find some way to get a jump start right now. Maxon and I need to gain 20 percentage points in the next eight-ish months. Which means I want to try to get five before we even announce this baby."

"_Five_?" Georgia asked, stunned.

"It's just a goal, we might not reach it, but what's the point in not really trying?" America said with a shrug.

Georgia conceded the point, "I was thinking… there's got to be a way of shoring up the middle-castes for you. They've benefitted enormously from Maxon's reign."

"I was thinking the same thing." Marlee said.

"What if you did merchandise, like the English and Italian royals do?" Georgia suggested.

"Merchandise?" America asked, not exactly sure what Georgia meant.

"Yeah. You know, plates with your face on them, tea cups commemorating the royal baby—"

"_Plates_ with my _face_ on them?" America asked, torn between laughing and screaming at the thought.

"It's a way to keep pro-Illéan sentiment in people's homes, even when the television is off. It reaffirms you and Maxon as figureheads. These collectibles don't cost much, they're shiny, and can be either useful or decorative. That's middle-caste, isn't it?"

"It sounds like it…" America agreed, warily.

"And, I know why Maxon is the only one who gets his face on a stamp—"

"You mean because he's the real royal, of the two of us?" America asked, amused. It was true, Maxon was the one with his face on the stamps and the money, because he was the hereditary King. Yet another right they were trying to win for royal women. The right to have a woman's face on money and stamps.

"Yeah, but you should see if you can't swing a 'Queen America' stamp series. It could raise funds for the postal service and be good for your image." Georgia suggested.

America was scribbling all of this down, now, in addition to noting Silvia's suggestions from earlier.

Marlee nodded, "That's all really good. And you should get May out there for you. The people adore May, possibly more than they adore you. Use her. And use Gerad, he's becoming quite the pre-teen heartthrob."

"Good, so when we try to change the laws to allow women to inherit the throne, the twelve year olds of Illéa won't violently exile us from the Kingdom." America said with a sarcastic eye roll.

"This is a battle for the future, America, not the past." Marlee said, simply. "Who do you think that baby is going to be King or Queen of, when the time comes? It's those kids, Ames. They're a front to this war, too. Winning them over now would be so helpful to your baby."

America sighed. "You're right." she realized, heavily.

"Besides, everyone likes Gerad." Marlee winked. "Think of all the middle-caste moms who think of him as a surrogate son."

"What about magazines?" Georgia said. "You could up your magazine presence. That'll help with the upper-castes. Grant more interviews or photograph sessions?"

"That's a good idea." Silvia said. "You could start that now, with recipes or fashion tips, maybe a makeup tutorial or two—"

"Or I could have May do it." America said, thinking that the idea of giving fashion advice to _anyone_ was laughable. She was, after all, the sweatpant Queen.

"Lady May would be superbly suited for such work, yes." Silvia nodded.

"And if there was any way to get these magazines into the hands of the lower-castes…" Georgia mused.

America shrugged. "I don't know about that, yet, I'll see if Maxon has any ideas. Mary? What do you think the staff around the castle would like to see?"

"We adore you, your Majesty." Mary said. America was about to press for more when Mary added, demurely, "But… um…"

"Go on." America smiled.

"We adore you because we see you every day. We know you very well, that's why we love you so much. You, and King Maxon. I believe Lady Silvia is right, more media exposure will be good for you, it will help sixes and sevens who don't know you to learn more about you, and I believe they'll love you once they know you better."

America nodded. "Good, alright. It's on the list." America looked at her now almost completely full page of notes at the front of her yellow notepad.

"But, your Majesty?"

America laughed at how nervous Mary seemed to look. Mary, who was one of America's closest friends, Mary, whom America had known since the day she arrived at the Palace, marginally longer than she'd known Maxon. "Yes, Mary?"

"You need to get out more."

America leaned back in her chair, the sheer surprise of hearing these words from Mary knocking her back a little. "Oh."

"I know that part of the reason you and King Maxon stay in the Palace is to stay safe, and part of the reason is because you are both tremendously busy, but you need to make time for your people. Go out and visit the shops in the village, hear firsthand how life in Illéa is changing for the better. It will be good for you, and for your image."

"I absolutely agree." Georgia said, nodding approvingly at Mary. This made Mary blush and also smile a tiny, pleased little smile. "And between August and Aspen, you and Maxon would be more than safe."

"Getting out more often would allow paparazzi cameras to have more opportunities to photograph you." Silvia said. "That would be easy publicity."

"And depending on what you're photographed doing, you could really help the community." Marlee said. "Maybe you could sit in on a music class at a local music school and help support arts education? Or visit a small clothing shop and support undiscovered designers."

"Maxon could get out on the field during a soccer game and kick the ball around with some kids, and that could raise awareness for after school sports clubs." America nodded, catching on and scribbling furiously on her pad.

"And Gerad would be perfect to accompany him on that trip." Marlee smiled.

"Mary, you're a genius." America smiled over at Mary, who looked distinctly pleased and relieved.

America ended the first official meeting of her war council to meet Maxon for lunch. When she walked into her office, he was just through the open doors leading to his office, sitting behind his desk, reading a security report. However, when he heard her come in, he jumped up and jogged over to greet her. "How was it?" he asked, eagerly.

America didn't say anything, she just smiled a tired, satisfied smile and held up her notepad so that he could see the miles and miles of notes she'd taken.

Maxon's beautiful brown eyes widened. "Those are all ideas?" he asked, impressed.

"Yep. All ideas."

"Wow. Good work, Ames!" he swept her up in his arms.

"Thanks." That praise from him sent her heart soaring.

"I knew you'd be excellent." he kissed her forehead.

"They were the excellent ones. I was just—"

"Leading them?" Maxon suggested. "Like some kind of leader?"

America laughed a little. "Yeah."

"See? What were we ever worried for?" Maxon laughed. "Enacting this amendment is going to be a piece of cake."

America didn't know about that, but for the first time since their meeting with Stavros, enacting this amendment felt remotely possible. And that was a major improvement.


	15. Chapter 15

"Ames." Maxon whispered. She could feel his breath tickle her face. He couldn't have been hovering more than an inch above her.

"What?" she asked, trying to sink lower under the covers.

"I think it's morning." he whispered.

"Okay." America mumbled, squeezing her eyes shut tighter.

"I'm going to turn on the lamp and check my watch." Maxon whispered, and she felt the bed shift as he rolled over to retrieve his watch from the bedside table next to America's bed.

"Maxon Schreave." America chastised. The bed stilled.

"Yes?" he used his voice now.

"Is there sunlight?"

"No." he admitted reluctantly. If she'd peeked her eyes open and there'd been a sliver of light in the room, she was certain she'd have seen the King of Illéa poking his bottom lip out in a pout.

"No sunlight, no ultrasound. You know the rules." she reminded him, gently.

Dr. Ashlar had sent them a note the afternoon before. The sonogram machine was ready, and they could come over any time before noon the next day to have a look at their baby. Maxon interpreted 'morning' to mean any time between midnight and noon, and he preferred midnight. America had been very clear with him the night before, however, insisting that there be at least the beginnings of a sunrise before they went off to bother the good doctor. She'd employed Christmas morning rules on him. No sunlight, no presents.

"Fine." Maxon sighed, and collapsed back down on the bed. "But this is taking forever." he whined.

"Not even kings can command the sun to rise." America mumbled, trying to drift back to sleep.

"Hmm… I'm going to try it, anyway." Maxon said. America thought he was joking, but he slipped out of bed, threw open the balcony doors and yelled, "Get up, you lazy sun!"

America's shoulders silently shook as she tried to contain her laughter, "Maxon, hush!" she urged.

The guard on duty knocked briskly then cracked the door open. "Is everything alright in here, your Majesties?" he asked, tentatively.

"No, the sun refuses to rise for its king." Maxon reported, petulantly.

America sighed, giving up on sleep for the moment and sitting up in bed, duvet pooling around her waist to reveal her white nightie. "Weaver, is there a code number for when the King goes stark-raving crazy in the middle of the night and is really bugging the Queen?" America asked, as if nonchalant.

Weaver played along, grinning, "I believe that's a 3-2-5, ma'am."

"Hm. And what's the protocol on that, officer? Something to do with binding and gagging him until a decent hour of morning, correct?"

"I don't know, ma'am. Would you be willing to take over for him as ruler? Then we could just toss him into prison for the duration of the episode." Weaver joked.

"No way. If Maxon persists in his insanity, I'm moving to a district with warm beaches, cold cocktails, and no husbands allowed." America said, flopping back down on her bed.

"Very good, ma'am." Weaver chuckled, closing the door and returning to his post.

Maxon leapt back into bed with her. "I'm sorry, my love, I'm being insensitive, aren't I? You're pregnant, you need your rest."

"That's right." America said, blinking up at him. It was too dark to make out anything more than his outline.

"I'm just so excited. This is the only morning this whole week that we're both off of work, and we get to spend it together, getting our first glimpse at our first baby…"

America sighed and reached her hand up in the darkness, groping around until she found Maxon. She spread her hand wide and tried to cover his entire face with it. "Shh…" she urged. "The mother of your child needs sleep. Please let me sleep until breakfast, Maxon. I promise, this morning will go much better for you if you do."

He covered the hand on his face with his own, then tugged it down to his lips, giving her palm a kiss. "Of course."

She felt him shift, and lay back down on his side, pulling her into him. She was laying on her back and she felt his breath on her face. "Maxon?"

"Hm?"

"Are you staring at me while I try to fall asleep?"

"…Yes."

America sighed, exasperated, "I'm going to make you go back to your room!" How was she expected to grow a human baby in her body under these conditions?

"No! I'll be good, I promise." Maxon begged.

America licked her dry lips, shifted in the bed a bit to get as comfortable as possible, and then tugged her night dress up. "Sit by my knees, Maxon."

"Your knees?" he asked, as he obeyed.

She held out her hands for him, "Put your head in my hands."

"Is this a sex thing?" Maxon asked, innocently.

"Maxon!" America scolded.

"Sorry, no, because of sleeping."

"That's right, sleeping." America giggled a little. He was adorable, her husband. Well-bred and frighteningly well-educated and well-articulated and well-composed, and sometimes just so damn adorable that she completely lost track of what she was doing in the middle of doing it. "Lay on your stomach." America instructed. Maxon awkwardly shifted his body around so that he was at a diagonal on the bed, his feet hanging off the far corner. "Alright?"

"Mhmm." he replied, patiently.

She lowered his head to her bare stomach and laid his cheek there, then she brushed her hands through his hair a couple of times in a soothing gesture. "There. You and the baby keep each other company while I get another hour of sleep." She could feel his smile against her skin, and one of his hands came to rest on her hip so that his fingers splayed across the area just below her naval, where her uterus was.

America fell back asleep to a lullaby of gentle whispers and featherlight kisses and Maxon's fingers tracing patterns on her stomach as he told soft stories to their baby through the membrane of her skin.

The next time America awoke, there was a strong smell of coffee and bacon in the air.

"The sun rose, Ames!" Maxon's voice exclaimed in a warm and gentle rumble coming from about a foot above her.

America couldn't really manage a verbal reply, she just groaned, stretched, and then rolled over onto her stomach.

"There's cinnamon in the oatmeal this morning." he enticed. From his voice, it sounded like he was standing over her next to the bed.

America tried to mumble that she would rather sleep than eat, but the consonants never quite made it out of her mouth so it came out more like "iouaeaee" and a sigh.

"My intel has informed me that Dr. Ashlar is in the hospital wing for the morning."

This peaked her interest and she blinked her heavy eyelids open with effort. "Really?"

"So now if we went over there for the ultrasound, we wouldn't even have to be hopelessly rude and wake everyone up."

"What time is it?"

"A little after eight." Maxon said.

"You really did let me sleep." America said, impressed. It took her a moment to work up the stamina to sit up in bed.

Maxon brought her a glass of juice and perched on the side of the bed. "Another three hours." he agreed. "You needed it. But it wasn't easy and I think you owe me." he teased.

"Owe you?"

"Yeah. The baby and I had a conversation, and we agree."

"You and the baby had a conversation?" America asked, amused.

"I talked, it listened." Maxon nodded. "I told it to speak up if it disagreed, and it didn't say anything."

America laughed and kissed Maxon quickly on the lips, "And what did you and the baby decide?"

"We're choosing the movie, next time we see one." Maxon announced.

"Oh, really?"

"Yeah, the baby and I like action movies."

America rolled her eyes and took a long drink of juice. It helped dispel some of the grogginess. "I suppose that sounds fair enough. You were very patient this morning."

"And I ordered breakfast." Maxon announced, proudly. Ordering their food was usually America's specialty.

"Yes, thank you." America pushed the covers off of her body and swung her legs over the side so that now she was sitting next to Maxon.

"Mary was very quiet when she brought the cart in. She told me to tell you to call for her when you were ready to get dressed."

"Well," America sighed, clutching her glass with both hands, "I know you're in a hurry to get to the infirmary, but do you think I have time for a bath first?"

"Absolutely not." Maxon shook his head firmly. "If you take a bath, you'll have to dry your hair, too. I know how this works. We'll be stuck here for another hour."

"Hmm." America nodded. "Alright. Do you think _we_ have time for a bath, then?"

"...Oh, definitely." Maxon nodded, abruptly and completely changing his tune at the prospect of bathing with her.

"Yeah?"

"Of course, anything for my queen." Maxon grinned, nuzzling his nose into the side of her neck.

"You're a very generous king." America chuckled.

They sent word that they were on their way to the hospital wing and they walked, hand in hand, across the Palace. Sometimes it still amazed America that a place so big, so grand and ornate, could possibly be 'home'. How could a place where innumerable guards in full regalia bowed deeply to you every time you rounded a corner ever be 'home'? But it _was_ home. It was very much her home, and that was all to do with Maxon. Maxon could make anywhere feel like home for her, even a cardboard box.

"So, has Mary heard any rumors?" Maxon asked.

"Rumors?"

"Baby rumors?" he clarified, with a quick glance around to see who was nearby. One guard at the far end of the hallway, too distant to overhear.

"Surprisingly, no. The advisers have nothing to gain by leaking it to staff, Mary and Paige are impenetrable fortresses with my personal information-"

"I love that about them." Maxon smiled.

"Dr. Ashlar would lose his job. Silvia would-"

"Probably honestly rather die than betray a royal trust."

"Yeah, there's probably something in the protocol about betraying royal trusts." America laughed. "Georgia knows, but she can talk about it with August since he found out with the rest of the advisers... Marlee and Carter, obviously."

"Is that everyone?"

"Kenna. Oh, and a serving maid named Esther."

"How-"

"She's the one who brought you the tray with my little note, last week."

"A week ago today." Maxon marveled. Though it felt as if it had been ages, it had only been seven days since America and Maxon had found out about their royal baby.

"Do you know who I was thinking about telling?"

"Your mother?" Maxon asked, pointedly.

"I'll get around to it." America rolled her eyes. "No, I was thinking about Lucy. We should tell her."

"We absolutely should." Maxon nodded.

"Then our closest friends will all be in the loop." America grinned. "Aspen and Lucy and Marlee and Carter and Georgia and August." She liked to list them like that. Maxon had grown up so lonely, and she'd never had many friends herself. Now they had enough close personal friends to fill a list. It was very nice.

"Oh, America, I had a thought as well."

"Yeah?"

"Nicoletta will have your skin for her mantle if you don't tell her soon."

America pressed her palm to her forehead forcefully, "I completely forgot about Nic! You're absolutely right, I've got to tell her as soon as I can. The longer I wait, the more offended she'll be."

The doors to the hospital wing opened wide for them and Dr. Ashlar stood waiting for them, several folders in his arms.

"Your Majesties." he bowed.

"Good morning, Doctor." Maxon grinned.

"Right this way." Dr. Ashlar led them off to the private examination room America had been going to every Friday since she had stopped taking the birth control tablets. "How are you feeling this morning, Queen America?"

"A little tired." America reported. "It was harder to get going this morning than it usually is."

"Some days will be easier than others." Dr. Ashlar replied, sympathetically.

"That's all, though." America said. "No morning sickness or cravings or anything else I've been warned about."

"Well, the morning sickness doesn't usually present until around the sixth week, so it could be that you're shy of that mark." Dr. Ashlar suggested. He checked her chart quickly, "That's right we took you off the birth control tablets 30 days ago. You're not very far along at all, your Majesty."

"Oh. I was hoping you'd tell me that I'm genetically superior and immune to morning sickness." America grinned.

Dr. Ashlar laughed and motioned for her to seat herself on the patient's bed. He withdrew a sterile needle from a drawer nearby, prepped the skin on her arm, and drew just enough blood for a panel.

"Is this the machine?" Maxon asked, staring at a large rectangular thing on wheels, it appeared to be some kind of computer with multiple attachments coming out from it, and two screens towards the top of it. Maxon had turned away when Dr. Ashlar had gone after America's arm with the needle, which was when he'd noticed the machine. Maxon absolutely hated seeing America's blood. America didn't know much about birth yet, but she'd heard that it could be very bloody. She'd have to work with Maxon on his impulse to avoid her pain. When she went into labor, she'd need him leaning in, not out.

"That is a sonogram machine." Dr. Ashlar confirmed.

"Amazing." Maxon said, admiringly.

"It's very old technology," Dr. Ashlar acknowledged, "But it's still the best way to take a look inside of a human body." Dr. Ashlar turned to another computer-looking machine and placed her blood in a capsule that the machine then began to analyze.

"Wow." Maxon breathed, turning over to examine the whirring and blinking machine that was now screening her blood. "What's it doing?" Maxon asked.

"Checking her vitamin levels, protein levels, and giving me clues about how to keep both her and the baby healthy." Dr. Ashlar said. "That machine is how we found out that she is pregnant in the first place."

Maxon shook his head, humbled. It was surprising. America had always assumed that, growing up around these machines, Maxon would know all about them. "Maxon showed me a computer once... it knew what was inside all of the books in his library." America said.

"This is like that." Dr. Ashlar said, nodding. "This is going to find out what's inside of your blood."

America turned to Maxon and grinned and Maxon grabbed her hand, lacing their fingers together.

"Your Majesty, I'd like to get your weight and measurements out of the way, if you don't mind." Dr. Ashlar said.

"Of course." America hopped off the bed and slipped off her shoes. Dr. Ashlar had her stand on the medical scale in the corner of the room and reported that she hadn't gained an ounce from last week.

"That's normal, this early on." the doctor assured them. "We'll start seeing subtle changes sometime in the next month."

America had to unzip her jeans and roll them down to her hips, then roll her shirt up so that Dr. Ashlar had unobstructed access to her midriff. He measured around her naval, then from the bottom of her ribcage to her hips, and reported that she hadn't changed by even a centimeter. If it wasn't for the machines in the room alerting them to its presence, that baby would be wholly undetectable.

"When will she start to show, Doctor?" Maxon asked, eagerly. America knew he wanted to get his hands on a baby bump as soon as possible.

"Well, that depends." Dr. Ashlar said, winding his tape measure back up neatly. "It varies widely, but I would expect to see the first emergence of a bump somewhere around week twelve."

Maxon's brow furrowed. He'd been hoping for something sooner than the end of the first trimester. America was a little bit disappointed, too. "Why does it take so long?" America asked.

Dr. Ashlar smiled kindly at them and his tone was very patient, "Babies start out as microscopic masses of cells, and by the time they're big enough to cause your uterus to stretch and a bump to appear on your waistline, they've already developed ears, eyes, bones, and reflexes that move those bones. That baby is growing very, very fast. But it starts off very, very small and it has a long way to go." The doctor looked, amused, between Maxon's wondering expression and America's wondering expression. They were both stricken with awe. "Shall we take a look inside and figure out exactly how far along you are?"

America looked over at Maxon eagerly and he grinned down at her. "Yes, please." America answered for the both of them.

The machine didn't seem to be difficult to operate. Dr. Ashlar flipped a switch and it hummed to life. One twelve inch screen faced the doctor, another pivoted out so that Maxon and America could see it. America was instructed to lay back on the bed and leave her shirt up and her jeans rolled down.

"King Maxon, would you like to assist me?" Dr. Ashlar asked.

"Of course!" Maxon said, eagerly. Nothing made King Maxon act more like young, curious, adorable Prince Maxon quite like talk of this baby, America was learning.

"Hold out your hand." Dr. Ashlar instructed, and Maxon held his palm out flat. Dr. Ashlar picked up a tube of something, unscrewed the top, and then squirted it onto his hand. "This gel helps the machine." he explained. "Warm it between your hands and rub it onto your wife's skin for me, please. Just below her naval. Very good." Dr. Ashlar supervised while he continued to set up the machine and type a few things in.

Maxon grinned at America as he painted her lower abdomen with gel, "How does it feel?"

"Same as it does on your hands." America grinned back. She'd known that this experience would be amazing, but watching Maxon experience it was a hundred times more amazing.

"You can use the sink in the corner to rinse your hands off, your Majesty." Dr. Ashlar said. "Very good work on the gel application, sir."

"Thank you, Doctor." Maxon laughed.

"You'd make an excellent assistant, if you ever take a break from being King, sir."

"I'll keep that in mind." Maxon was kidding, but he really did seem pleased at the thought. Anyone who was his father's age telling him that he did something well tended to do that to him, and it broke America's heart just a little bit, how desperately Maxon still craved that approval.

"I advise you to hold your wife's hand now, sir."

"Right." Maxon said, coming back over to his original position beside her bed. His hand was cold from the water he'd used to wash it.

"Ready?" Dr. Ashlar asked.

"Yes." America said, sounding a hundred times more confidant than she felt. What if something was wrong? What if the baby was gone? What if there never had been a baby, and the blood test had been wrong? Maxon must have been having similar thoughts, because his hand gave hers a nervous squeeze.

Dr. Ashlar picked up an extension to the sonogram machine that he called the 'wand' and held it on her lower belly. "Let's have a look, here..." he said, moving the wand around for a moment. Maxon and America glued their eyes to the screen facing them. It was full of black, white, and grey blurs, moving as the doctor moved the wand. "Here we are." Dr. Ashlar announced, with a smile, and the wand stopped moving. A few clicks of a button on the computer, and the image zoomed in.

It was hard to tell what they were looking at. There were layers of white, grey, and black on the screen that America figured must be various layers of skin and muscle.

"Do you see that large black circle in the middle of the image?" Dr. Ashlar asked, noting Maxon's and America's puzzled faces.

"Yes." Maxon said. It was the largest mass of solid color on the screen.

"That's Queen America's uterus. Where your baby lives. Look at the bottom right of the big black mass. What do you see?"

"A little, round, grey blob." America said. It felt like painting lessons with her father. When he was trying to teach her painting, he'd always point at random things and ask her what she saw. Her answers usually amused but never quite satisfied him in the way that May's answers would.

"Yes, your Majesty. That little, round, grey blob is your baby." Dr. Ashlar announced.

Maxon blinked. America blinked. Their mouths fell wide open. "Oh." Maxon said, surprised.

"_That__'__s_ our baby?" America asked, surprised to find her voice wavering and unshed tears in her eyes.

"Yes, indeed, your Majesty." Dr. Ashlar smiled. "King Maxon, would you like to hold the wand for a moment?"

"Yes." he rasped, placing his hand where Dr. Ashlar's was, and then taking over the wand. Unlike Dr. Ashlar's surgeon-steady hands, Maxon's hands were shaking like leafs at this first glimpse of his brand new baby. He lost track of the blob and got lost in America's internal organs. "Oops." Maxon said.

"That's alright, your Majesty." Dr. Ashlar guided Maxon's hand back to the right spot. Their blob baby reappeared. "There you go. You can move the wand around a little bit, but the baby is still so small that this is pretty much our only option for angles right now."

"Ames, look." Maxon breathed, staring at the screen.

She was looking. She was looking very hard, right into Maxon's beautiful, round, awestricken brown eyes. "I know." America breathed.

Maxon turned back to Dr. Ashlar, "This machine is amazing, Dr. Ashlar."

"Isn't it?" Dr. Ashlar agreed. "Here, I'll take over again, if you're ready."

Maxon released the wand and seized America's hand again. His hands were still cold and shaking, and America stroked her thumb against his skin soothingly.

"Alright," Dr. Ashlar said, pressing a button on the machine. "I think this angle is a winner for the printed picture, don't you?"

"The printed picture?" America asked.

"I'll print a picture of this so that you and the King can have a good, long look later, your Majesty."

"Oh..." America was too overwhelmed to register how wonderful this sounded. Everything was wonderful. Everything was perfect. She and Maxon had a blob baby.

"Now then," Dr. Ashlar continued, "Based on the development I'm seeing here, I would put you..." he paused, looking the mass over carefully, "Hmm... just shy of four weeks. Maybe three weeks and four days? Five days?"

"You can really pinpoint it so accurately?" America asked, surprised.

"Like I mentioned before, there's a lot of development happening this early on. Each milestone is a major one. In the last trimester, there's less development and more growth, so it gets a little more obscure. Some babies get bigger, faster, but it's hard to speed along the development of ears, eyes, or in this case, vertebrae."

"Three weeks... but you only commandeered me two weeks ago." Maxon said to America, thinking back to the days they'd devoted to each other under the guise of making an heir.

America's eyebrows rose, "I guess I was already pregnant..."

"Wow. Very efficient work, Ames." Maxon joked, but he really was impressed.

"This must have happened... very quickly after taking me off of the birth control tablets." America marveled.

"Those fertility tablets we gave you are no joke, your Majesty." Dr. Ashlar nodded. "We're very good at this."

"Yes, well done, team." Maxon beamed.

Dr. Ashlar laughed and then turned the sonogram machine off. He handed America a tissue to wipe off her bare midriff. "Just doing a quick calculation, here, I'd say we could expect to see a royal baby make an appearance... anytime after the second week of December. Let's just say the 15th, to put my estimate squarely in the middle."

"Wow." Maxon grinned. He liked imagining that. "We'll have a brand new baby for Christmas!"

"It could be a little earlier, but I would be surprised." Dr. Ashlar said. "First time mothers are notorious for carrying over the due date. I would be entirely comfortable with your delivering anytime in late December, your Majesty." he said to America.

It was more than she could wrap her mind around. It was already the first week of May. By the end of December, she'd be a mother.

"Will you update that due date as the baby develops?" Maxon asked. "We need to stay as exact as possible for some... work we're doing." Maxon looked at America importantly and America nodded. They needed as accurate a cutoff date as possible for their work on the amendment.

"Of course, your Majesty."

The rest of the appointment was a little bit of a blur, to America. Her blood panel came back in excellent shape. She was borderline anemic, which accounted for some of her tiredness, so Dr. Ashlar upped the iron level in her daily vitamins and recommended that she add another portion of red meat to the Palace menu every week. Other than that, she and the baby were both the pictures of health. Dr. Ashlar advised that she drink plenty of milk, along with the water she was constantly sipping on these days, to keep her calcium level high. Maxon vowed to help on that front.

And just like that, they were done. Maxon tucked the tiny image of their tiny child in his front suit pocket and then he led America away from the hospital wing.

"Are you alright, America? You've gone quiet." Maxon had the widest smile on his face.

"I can't believe it. There's really a baby in there." America said, stunned.

"Of course there is." Maxon said, surprised.

"Well... there's a difference between knowing something... and seeing it with your own eyes." America explained. "I'm stunned."

"Would an action movie help you process?" Maxon offered, impishly.

It took America a second to hear the question, she was so wrapped up in her thoughts, but when she did, she laughed. "I suppose I do owe you one."

"Me and the baby." Maxon nodded, wrapping an arm around her and steering them off in the direction of the movie theater. "December, Ames. A December baby."

America nodded and took a gulp of air. December. "A December amendment, too."

Maxon peered down at her, soberly. "We'll get it done, America. We'll change the world, and then have a baby, and then open Christmas gifts. Just like that. You'll see."

She had to trust him. He still knew so much more about laws than she did, and she didn't believe he would ever purposefully mislead her. Still, she was worried. Seven and a half months. The clock was now, officially, ticking.


	16. Chapter 16

On Monday afternoon, America and Silvia sat in America's office with the median doors leading to Maxon's office closed. Maxon had been in a meeting with Aspen about Palace security all day. Both men were more anxious than usual to tighten security and reduce rebel incursions now that America was pregnant. It was like having not one, but two overly-protective husbands.

America and Silvia were setting the agenda for the week, and discussing the various successes of last week when Maxon knocked on the door and popped in. Silvia leapt up from her seat and sank into a obsequious curtsey.

"Are you ready, America?"

"Yes." America said, standing. "We'll finish this tomorrow." she said to Silvia.

"Absolutely." Silvia nodded, standing up.

America straightened up her desk, picked up a folder of briefing material that she'd read through the previous night to get ready, and then crossed over to Maxon.

"How do I look?" America asked, nervously.

"Gorgeous." he assured her.

"Like a queen?" America, Mary, and Paige had been very specific this morning, choosing the exact dress and exact shoes, the exact makeup and exact hairstyle to make her look the most like a queen.

"Now that you say it, it's the strangest thing." Maxon said, offering her his arm. "You do look like a queen. You look just like the Queen of Illéa, has anyone ever told you that?" he joked. To him, she was the Queen and however she dressed was the perfect way to dress like a queen. If anyone ever dared tell him otherwise, he'd have them banished. America was his queen, and the clothes on her body were utterly insignificant to her status. In fact, he preferred her with no clothes at all, but not even kings can get their _every_ wish granted.

America rolled her eyes at him and looped their arms. "I suppose I was really trying to evoke more of your mother today. I'm even wearing her pearls." America said, looking down at the string of pearls around her neck. She had a small but growing collection of Amberly's jewelry, given to her on birthdays, anniversaries and special occasions by Maxon.

"Ah, well, in that case, you look splendid, my love." Maxon relented. "You are doing my mother proud, and the advisers are going to adore you."

America nodded, gratefully, and tilted her chin up, trying to look braver than she felt. Today was the first meeting of 'the King's war council to advise on the drafting of amendment legislation for the laws of inheritance', but since that would make a ridiculous acronym, something like K.W.C.A.D.A.L.F.L.O.I., and because the 'amendment legislation for the laws of inheritance' part was still classified information, they were calling it 'The Council' for short.

When Maxon and America arrived in conference room A, there were several advisers already present, including Gavril Fadaye. They bowed upon Maxon's and America's entrance, and then quickly returned to their milling around and pre-meeting chatting.

This conference room was much larger and more imposing than conference room C, where America met with her own council the previous week. She turned to look at Maxon, eyes wide with worry and he gave her a reassuring smile. A smile that said to her, 'I'm here, I'll be right by your side, I love you, and I'll never let you fall'. This was a prime example of that special, secret language Georgia had alerted America to at the Palace Egg Roll.

America had gone to council meetings before, but never one of this size or caliber. She could suddenly understand so clearly young Prince Maxon's anguish and anxiety as King Clarkson publicly and repeatedly humiliated the Prince in this very room, in front of such seasoned, revered council members. She wondered what it had been like for him, the very first time he attended a meeting in conference room A. Had Maxon been this nervous? Had Clarkson been horrible? What had they been meeting about? How old had Maxon been? America turned to her husband, who was setting up his spot on a slightly raised platform just large enough for his and America's chairs. They didn't sit at the head of the table, instead the seats of honor in this room were placed in the spots nearest the door at the long side of the conference table, so that the King and Queen could exit first, before the advisers started milling around after the meeting.

Maxon seemed to feel her stare on the back of his head and turned to smile at her. Since they were at an official meeting, as King and Queen of Illéa, they weren't supposed to physically touch any more than necessary out of respect for royal decorum, and they weren't supposed to discuss anything that wasn't on the agenda. So she tugged her ear. He did the same. She'd ask him about his first meeting over dinner that night.

Stavros walked into the room briskly, carrying his own briefing file in his arms. He bowed to Maxon and then to America, then he moved to the other side of the room to speak with Gavril.

America decided to copy Maxon and set up her space for the meeting. She stood next to him and he passed her a very nice pen and a pad of thick, lined paper to take notes on. "Usually I'm all alone up here." he said, out of the corner of his mouth, referencing the small platform, about six inches off of the ground, that they were perched on. "It's nice to have some company."

She smiled over at him and gave him a wink. The door behind them opened again and this time Aspen walked in and bowed, deeply, from the waist.

"Aspen?" America asked, surprised. She could feel her whole face light up, but she didn't know how to hide that, not when it came to Aspen Leger. Maxon nodded to Aspen and went off to speak with Stavros at the other end of the room, presumably to discuss the agenda for the upcoming meeting.

"Good afternoon, your Majesty." Aspen said, straightening up. He always said 'your Majesty' with an ironic little smile. If it wasn't for Aspen, America wouldn't be anyone's 'Majesty'. The whole reason she'd agreed to enter the Selection in the first place was to secure her future with Aspen.

"What are you doing here? Weren't you in meetings with Maxon all morning?"

"I was. I'm here to give a cost estimate on additional security that might go along with potential endeavors… basically, if you start going out into Angeles more often, and Maxon said you might, then I'm here to tell them how expensive it will be to secure you while you're out, in money and man power."

America smiled up at him, meeting his green eyes eagerly, "I'm so glad you're here. I thought Maxon's would be the only really friendly face at the table."

"Actually, Maxon has me seated to your right. Or, I should say, 'his Majesty' has me seated to your right." Aspen corrected himself. Aspen and Maxon had grown so close over the years, bonding first over their mutual love of America, though Aspen's was a different kind of love. They both adored their families and were completely devoted to serving their country, and so their strange friendship had grown from the mutual respect and admiration they had for each other.

"I'm sitting between you and Maxon?" America clarified with a smile. "I'll be well-defended, then. Even if it's just from verbal attacks." Another example of her two overly-protective husbands being overly-protective. "How's Lucy?"

"Great." Aspen grinned, lighting up at the mention of his wife. "As big as a house." Lucy was expecting their first baby in about three weeks time, and America could not possibly have been more excited.

"I need to see her." America grabbed Aspen's wrists, emphatically. "I need to see her before she has the baby."

"She's anxious to see you, too. She misses you."

Lucy usually liked to come by the Women's Room, at least a couple of times a month. However, since her pregnancy, she'd been sick, and then tired, and then sick and tired, and she'd been staying home most of the time to take care of herself.

America smiled at Aspen, "I miss her, too. I miss having you both in the Palace all the time, that really spoiled me. Have you told her that her baby is about to get a royal baby playmate?"

"I can't. It's illegal." Aspen said with a little shrug. "I found out about it through my position as the King's Adviser on Security. It's against the law for me to tell. Now, if you'd told me as a _friend_—"

"Don't start." America said, shaking her head. "May doesn't even know yet, don't take it too personally that you found out in an adviser meeting."

"May doesn't know?" Aspen asked, amazed. "Why not?"

"Because… I don't know. I guess I just don't want… I'm not looking forward to being smothered by May, or especially by Mom."

"You should give them the chance to help you, Mer." Aspen said, and America smiled at the old nickname.

"I know."

"Do you know what Lucy would give to have a family like yours right now? A mother and sisters to help support her? I mean, don't get me wrong, my family has been amazing, and her dad has done the best he can, but it's not the same. You're so lucky, Mer, you have no idea."

"Pretty sure guilting me about it isn't good for the baby, Aspen." America said, her cheeks flushing and her stomach twisting into a guilty knot. It wasn't that she didn't want her family to know. Kenna knew, and it was perfectly lovely having Kenna know. There was something else… something America wasn't quite in-touch with, that made her reluctant to tell the others.

"Alright, I'm sorry." Aspen relented. "But tell them soon, okay?"

"I know. I will." America promised. "And I want to tell Lucy, too. Do you think we could all have lunch or something? On a weekend, maybe, so that you can be with her for the drive to and from your house?" Maxon and America tried to give Aspen weekends off as often as possible. Advisers were always on call, so it wasn't easy, but they did their best.

"I think she could be persuaded." Aspen grinned.

"Oh, Aspen." America breathed, smiling. "You're going to be the _best_ father. And that baby is going to be _so_ beautiful."

"I know. Just look who it has for a mother." Aspen laughed.

"I can't wait to hold it." America said, almost giddily. Lucy didn't have the same access to sonogram machines that America had, so Aspen and Lucy still didn't know if the baby was a boy or a girl. The lack of prenatal medical care for the majority of Illéan women was a big problem that America had been working with provincial leaders for two years to correct. Progress was slow. Machines were rare, and proper vitamin supplements and health screenings were expensive. Still, America was so pleased with and proud of the difference they were making in the lives of women and babies all throughout Illéa. She bragged about it to Maxon all the time. "I better know the _second_ it's born, because I'm coming over."

"Good." Aspen smiled.

From behind her, America felt Maxon's hand on the small of her back. They weren't supposed to be touching at this meeting, but she supposed she didn't know how Maxon could resist. Not when she was standing over here, grasping Aspen's wrists like this. There was no competition between the men anymore, that was long over, but occasionally Maxon liked to do victory laps, just to remind himself that he'd won.

"We're ready to start." Maxon said, softly.

America released Aspen and looked around the room. The head financial adviser, Jepsen, the public opinion adviser, Renken, and the social affairs adviser, Vesta, had all entered the room while America had been speaking with Aspen. They were now standing around the table along with Stavros, to Maxon's left, Gavril at the head of the table to Maxon's and America's left, and about five other men America had never been introduced to before. Probably lower-level advisers and maybe a researcher or two. It was hard to ignore the fact that she was the only woman in the room, not to mention the fact that most of these men were twice her age.

America nodded to Maxon and he guided her gently to their slightly elevated seats at the table. Aspen moved to stand behind his seat to America's right. For once, America was taller than him.

Maxon stood right behind America, his presence incredibly reassuring. According to protocol, she had to take her seat before even the King of Illéa could be seated. All eyes in the room were on her, and she drew herself up to her full height with a steadying breath. She sank into the chair and Maxon pushed it in for her, then moved to her left and took his own seat. As one, a cacophony of chairs scraped against the floor as a dozen or so men took their seats.

"Thank you for coming." Maxon said, in his King voice. The deeper, more commanding voice. It was the first time America was really noticing it, but he also had a different posture when he was being 'King Maxon'. Taller, with squared shoulders and his chin raised up. She'd have to add that detail to her impression of him.

Around the table there was an echo of 'you're welcome, your Majesty's.

Stavros took over, "You should all have a copy of the Palace's calendar for the next three months, as well as the King's and Queen's calendars for the next month." That had been a scramble to put together, America remembered with a smirk. She and Silvia usually planned their weeks on Mondays, one week at a time, with the exception of large Palace events like the Egg Roll or the Grateful Feast or the Winter Ball. When Stavros sent over the note asking for them to send to him a preliminary copy of their next _month__'__s_ schedule, the look on Silvia's face had been downright comical. If only America had had one of Maxon's cameras handy to forever capture the stunned expression of horror mixed with panic.

Around the table, folders were opened and pages were turned. Maxon and America did the same, flipping to have a look at the calendars before them. They'd already read through everything in the packet, extensively, in preparation for this meeting. Some of the packet, America and Maxon had read through together… in Maxon's bathtub… by candlelight. Even so, they knew what was inside.

Stavros continued, "The purpose of this meeting is to outline a unilateral course of action, coordinated between the King's office and the Queen's office, for the next three months leading up to the public announcement of the royal baby, that will bolster and elevate the King's approval ratings, the Queen's approval ratings, and the King's and Queen's joint approval ratings, in addition to improving potential public support for amendment S-19, the proposed amendment to the laws of inheritance equating hereditary princes and hereditary princesses in duty and privilege. Castor, read that back."

A young man sitting at the far right corner of the table, who was making a note of everything Stavros was saying, and would presumably be noting everything everyone said for the official records, began repeating, word for word, everything Stavros had just announced.

While they listened, Maxon reached to the middle of the table, poured a glass of water from a heavy glass pitcher into a thick glass tumbler and wordlessly sat the glass down in front of America. America wiped her sweaty palms on her dress, then took a sip of cool water followed by a deep breath. The water really helped with her nerves. She met Maxon's eyes and gave him a tiny, grateful smile. He nodded back to her, almost imperceptibly.

When Castor was done with the reading, Stavros cleared his throat and continued, "To start us off today, Evander from the research department has updated polling data for us."

A balding, middle-aged, red headed man with rectangular glasses and a nervous expression on his face picked up the papers in front of him with unsteady hands and read from them directly, his voice slightly shaking.

"In the wake of the Queen's Palace Egg Roll, Queen America's popularity has risen amongst Threes, Fours, Fives, Sixes, and Sevens; while dropping marginally with Twos. Approval for the Queen now rests firmly at 64% averaged amongst all castes polled, her highest approval rating is still with the Fives, at 70%, her lowest with the Twos at 55%." Evander stopped and peeked across the table at America nervously. He seemed to be hoping she wasn't too upset with the news he was delivering, that she had so much work to do to gain the support of the Twos. America and Maxon were well aware of their popularity problem with Twos, however. She offered Evander a tiny smile, and his face relaxed, slightly. He nodded, took a breath, and continued.

Maxon's numbers were holding steady with no significant changes, and when asked to consider Maxon and America together (the question sounded something like, 'Do you approve of the job King Maxon and Queen America are doing?'), their numbers were up by one percentage point, to 56%. If you were in a room with four random citizens, two of them would approve of Maxon and America. Almost three of them would approve of America, if they were Fives. That was a very decent place to be starting from.

"Thank you, Evander." Stavros said, nodding to the researcher. "As a reminder, our goal is to have 75% joint approval for their Majesties by December, and to, as much as possible in that time frame, improve support for aspects of the amendment, such as allowing for a princess to succeed the King over a prince, and dissolving the requirement that a princess forge foreign diplomatic alliances with her marriage. Castor, read that back."

Again, Castor began reading Stavros' last words. America noticed that Stavros did that every time he announced important information, and she wondered if he was doing it so that they would all hear the information twice, to help them remember it.

Castor finished repeating Stavros' words, and Stavros continued, "Queen America, would you please state for the record how far along you are?"

America blinked, stunned. She was surprised to be addressed, and she was surprised at the question. She was so used to talking about this baby with Maxon in hushed whispers or veiled allusions. Now, here she was in the middle of a large room full of men, most of whom she barely knew and half of whom she'd never met, being asked very blatantly, for an official Palace record, how far along she was. She faltered. "Excuse me?"

"How many weeks pregnant are you, Queen America? We need to know more precisely how long we have in this first trimester to lay the ground work for improving your polling numbers through your second and third trimesters."

"Oh." America cleared her throat and said, "Four weeks along… more or less exactly."

"Very good, thank you, your Majesty." America couldn't stop herself from feeling like Stavros was thanking her for incubating their heir. She had to forcibly remind herself that the grandfather whom she'd caught sneaking cookies to the little girl with the long braid at the egg roll was in there somewhere. "Fadaye, the King's Adviser on Media Affairs, I believe you have a suggestion for the announcement date that will help us narrow the scope of our meeting?"

"Yes, I do, Stavros. Your Majesties, let me start by congratulating you both. My heart absolutely overflows for the two of you, and I cannot wait to meet Illéa's next Prince or Princess. We have sorely missed having a young one to watch grow and inspire hope in us, as you always did, King Maxon."

"Thank you, Gavril." Maxon said, in his King voice. But America could hear the fault in his voice, the crack in the façade. Maxon was touched by Gavril's words.

"Thank you, Gavril." America echoed, softly.

"I would like to suggest a large, televised reveal, live on the _Capital Report,_ scheduled for the last Sunday in June. It will be the very middle of the slow season, as far as announcements from the Palace go. It will launch us into coverage of the Palace's Grateful Feast and the parade in July, something for the nation to be truly grateful for. I would like to officially tease the announcement starting the week before, and I would like to plant clues with Queen America's press appearances starting in two weeks time. We'll get the rumors circulating, get the public in a frenzy, we won't have much else to discuss with them because summer is the slow season, with no legislative sessions to report on and many prominent advisers choosing to take their vacations during these months. The news of that baby will be on the front page of every magazine in the world, if we play our cards right. And I'm a very good card player, if I do say so myself." Gavril winked as he finished his proposal.

Stavros looked over at Renken, who sat right next to Gavril, "Renken, the King's Adviser on Public Opinion. Do you agree with Fadaye's approach to the reveal?"

"I do, sir." Renken nodded. "Well done, as usual, Gavril." Gavril nodded. America supposed that Renken and Gavril had to work together a lot, since Renken was in charge of public opinion, and Gavril was in charge of the media that the Palace used to communicate to the public.

"All in favor?" Stavros called.

Every adviser at the table, except Aspen, said 'Aye'. Aspen didn't vote, probably because he didn't think his opinion very useful on the subject of royal baby announcements.

"Any opposed?" Stavros called. No one spoke. "Any proposed alterations?" No one spoke. "Very well, Your Majesties, we submit for your consideration Adviser Fadaye's plan to announce the royal baby, live on the _Capital Report_, on the last Sunday in June, with a week's media promotion, and subtle teasing by her Majesty Queen America starting in two week's time, May 19th." He read this summary from the notes he'd taken as Gavril had been speaking. "Have you any questions, your Majesties?"

"What sort of clues do you have in mind, Gavril?" Maxon asked, with a little frown. He didn't use his King voice this time, instead he used his overly-protective husband voice. From the corner of her eye, America saw Aspen lean forward, interested in the answer, too. As Queen, it wouldn't have been decorous to roll her eyes at the King, nor the King's security adviser, but she really, really wanted to.

"Subtle hints, your Majesty. Refusing wine at a photographed state event, leaving a dance early and claiming fatigue, canceling a royal appearance at the last minute and blaming it on a sudden, mild illness. But not canceling an afternoon appearance on the same day, thus pointing the finger toward morning sickness. If her Majesty purposefully starts wearing looser fitting dresses, even if she isn't showing, it will help stir the pot. I have a myriad of ideas, your Majesty."

America nodded, thoughtfully. "Gavril, I would like for you to coordinate with Silvia on this matter. In a meeting of the Queen's council earlier this week, she brought up several interesting ideas along the same lines. I think, between the two of you, you'll come up with something even more masterful than usual."

Her compliment had been all but lost in a sea of muttering and she knew why. She'd taken to calling Marlee, Georgia, Mary, and Silvia 'the Queen's council', to make them sound more official. The Queen was not technically supposed to need a council. The Queen was supposed to plan the Palace menu and throw parties and, most importantly, make little royal babies. The Queen had never needed a council before, never in the history of Illéa. Maxon's grandmother, Queen Abby, had been hard pressed to leave her bedroom before noon due to frequent hangovers and general disinterest in anyone other than herself. Queen Amberly had focused all of her attention on running the Palace and never lifted her eyes to matters of policy or state. Clarkson never would have let her.

But America was an entirely different kind of Queen, everyone in Illéa knew that. According to her approval numbers, a lot of people liked it. Judging from the reactions she was getting at this table for daring to have her own council, these advisers were a good representative sample of the people of Illéa. About half of them were looking at her, amused and impressed, and the other half were clearly offended. Like her having a council in some way demeaned or degraded their position on the King's council.

Gavril, for his part, was smiling proudly at America, "Absolutely, your Majesty, Silvia is a bright mind and I look forward to plotting and scheming with her."

Stavros spoke, and the mutiny at the table died instantly, "Once you have had that meeting, Fadaye, please send me the Queen's revised publicity schedule so that we can update our calendars accordingly."

"Absolutely." Gavril nodded, making a note.

"Any other questions, your Majesties?"

"No." Maxon spoke for both of them, his voice booming.

"Any alterations?"

"No." America answered.

"In that case, your Majesties, do you approve of Adviser Fadaye's plan to announce the royal baby?"

"We do." Maxon stated, clearly.

"Very good, moving on." Stavros announced.

The meeting continued like this for another hour. Stavros went around to every adviser but Aspen and got their proposals for how to improve Maxon's and America's approval ratings. The advisers would pitch their ideas. Stavros would sometimes ask Aspen what the cost would be to defend, say, a Palace benefit to promote prenatal health for women of all castes, as was one of the proposals by the Social Affairs Adviser, Vesta. It would tie in nicely with Gavril's plan to drop tantalizing hints to the public about America's pregnancy, because her very public interest in prenatal health would almost certainly point to a possible royal baby, especially if she wore a loose-fitting dress, never mind that she'd been quietly campaigning for higher quality prenatal care for two years now, and it was her flagship initiative until she could figure out how to get free, standard public schooling off the ground. At this point in the proceedings, Maxon and America would ask questions. Their questions would be answered. Stavros would ask if they approved. They'd move on to the next item on the docket.

The final adviser to speak was Maxon's head financial adviser, and the leader of the Financial Team, Jepsen. This was the man who, along with several assistant financial advisers, Maxon spent countless tedious, boring hours with in budget meetings. Jepsen had been Clarkson's head financial adviser, as well, and always struck America as more loyal to Clarkson than to Maxon. Jepsen gave them trouble at every turn, funding the food assistance programs or attempting to broaden the public school system. It was hard to tell if this was because he was opposed to these measures on a social level or if he was just a slave to the numbers and insisted that they balance the budget perfectly to avoid going into debt like the old country had. No one wanted a repeat of what happened to the United States of America.

"Your Majesties, to make allowances for the expense of additional public appearances, as well as managing additional production costs associated with the number of _Capital Report_ specials to be filmed in the coming months, and the increased scope of certain, more popular royal initiatives to be determined at a later meeting, I have come up with a list of royal initiatives to be tabled or cut entirely, to improve your polling numbers, and to free up more money for the projects that will support our common goal of passing this amendment."

"Thank you, Jepsen." Stavros said. "The first item on your list?"

"I recommend to his Majesty, King Maxon, that all efforts involving his environmental initiative to clean up the air quality in the southern provinces be tabled for two weeks, minimum. In addition to giving the Palace more time to put together funding, this initiative will do more good for your polling numbers when combined with Queen America's first hints at a royal pregnancy. It will look like you're working to make Illéa a better place for your children, your Majesty, and that will make you very popular."

Maxon shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "I _am_ working to make Illéa a better place for my children."

"Of course, your Majesty." Jepsen said, as though Maxon's intentions could not have mattered less to him.

"Your Majesty, have you any questions for Jepsen?" Stavros asked.

"Every day that we are idle, men, women, and children in the south are being poisoned." Maxon said, shaking his head. "The women are stricken barren, our population is dwindling in the southern regions, and people are sick, suffering, and desperate. Two weeks sounds like nothing to you and to me, it is a measure of time here in Angeles. In the south, it is a measure of lives lost. You are asking me to sit by and allow my citizens to be poisoned into slow, painful deaths because I'll look better if I wait until people begin to guess that my wife is pregnant? While so many women in the south struggle to have children of their own? Have you been to the south, Jepsen? Have you tried to breathe that air or drink that water? We don't have two weeks to spare, I have declared the south a national disaster area, rightfully so, they desperately require the disaster relief money we are sending their way. Two weeks is too much to ask." Maxon replied. His words came slowly, and thoughtfully, but there was a lot of emotion just below the surface. America could hear it all.

Jepsen replied, cold as ice, "I understand that the Southern Cleanup Initiative is near and dear to your heart, your Majesty, having watched your mother suffer as she did. Her poor health and the loss of your unborn brothers and sisters must weigh heavily on you—"

"That's enough." Maxon said, sharply, Clarkson's temper resting right under the surface of Maxon's kingly demeanor. Maxon wanted his mother left out of this budget discussion, rightfully so. Under the table, America slid her hand onto his knee. She gave him a gentle squeeze, and he seemed to calm down immediately at her touch. "The Southern Cleanup Initiative is important to me because of the Illéan citizens affected by the horrific environmental errors made by our past leaders. They have been wronged, and I intend to do everything in my power to right that wrong."

"Your Majesty, more attention will be given to the cause if you wait for the suggested two week time frame." Jepsen said, confidently. "And more attention will translate into more donations for the cause. Wait and launch this new flagship campaign, the companion to your food relief program, at the opportune moment, sir. It will be ten times more effective, it will be a larger boon to your approval ratings, and it will put us in a good position to move forward with the campaign to enact this amendment."

Maxon sighed unhappily, then he looked over at America. She could see on his face how displeased he was with this suggestion. This felt like playing politics and popularity games with people's lives. Actually, that's exactly what it was, but there was another life at stake here, too. The brand new life currently residing within America.

The look in Maxon's eyes was a very clear question, to America. 'What do I do?', it asked. America shook her head a little, uncertainly. Then she met those warm, brown eyes with a look that she hoped reminded him that she would support him, either way. Under the table, his hand gently covered hers, still resting on his knee. He lifted his chin, sat up straight and tall, and turned to Stavros.

Stavros took this as his cue. "Any other questions, your Majesty?"

"No." Maxon said, darkly.

"Any alterations?"

Maxon blinked his long lashes, clearly trying to imagine what alterations he could possibly make to Jepsen's advice that would make it more palatable, less painful. He couldn't think of anything. "No." Maxon replied.

"Do you approve of Adviser Jepsen's plan to postpone the launch of the Southern Cleanup Initiative?" Stavros asked.

Maxon frowned deeply, "I do."

"Very well." Stavros said. "Jepsen, the next item on your list?"

America shuddered. She'd forgotten that there would be more.

Jepsen flipped a page to another prepared statement and began to read, "I recommend to her Majesty, Queen America, that all efforts involving her initiative to broaden access to prenatal healthcare for women of every caste be tabled for one year."

There was an uproar of mumbling at the table again. A year. Maxon's project was postponed for a couple of weeks, America's was on the back burner for a year?!

"I'm sorry, Jepsen." America spoke, looking over at the man sitting straight across from her. She hoped that she'd just misunderstood. "Did you say a _year_?"

"That is correct, your Majesty." Jepsen nodded.

America knew she was supposed to let Jepsen finish his prepared statement and then wait for Stavros to ask her if she had any questions before she spoke, but she was absolutely stunned. She had to ask, "The King's adviser, Vesta, just finished a proposal that we all approved to host a benefit for the prenatal healthcare initiative. You voted to approve that benefit, does it not fall under the scope of 'all efforts' involving my initiative?"

"It does not, your Majesty." Jepsen replied, cooly. He was unhappy at having been interrupted. He'd worked hard on his presentation, and now he felt insulted.

America's cheeks flushed when she heard his response, because now she was going to look stupid. She didn't understand. "Why not?" she demanded, hoping to keep authority in her tone, even as she had no idea what was happening.

"A benefit is a social event, your Majesty. The efforts under my purview pertain to the money that the Palace sends to the provinces every month to help cover the costs of medical care, health supplements, and the sharing of expensive equipment between neighboring provinces. Host all of the social events that you please, your Majesty, but we need the money that we regularly send to the provinces in order to pay for the new expenditures associated with making you and the King more popular, and promoting this amendment."

America shook her head, folding her hands in her lap. Maxon was reluctant to release her hand, but in the end, he didn't have a choice. "The prenatal healthcare initiative is one of my most popular philanthropic endeavors. The lower castes support it, and it doesn't bother the Twos. It's a win-win."

"And publicly, you will be the face of that initiative by hosting the benefit proposed by Vesta and approved by this council, the King, and yourself."

"But privately I'll be siphoning funds from pregnant mothers who need vitamins so that I can pay for more press appearances, is that it?" America demanded.

Jepsen did not like her bluntness. He looked disgruntled, unhappy at having to explain this. To him, it was obvious. "It is not siphoning, your Majesty, those funds are part of your annual allowance. You must now redirect that money to support this amendment, for the time being. This time next year, your coffers will be full again and you can continue your monthly donations to this cause."

"Everything about this is wrong, Jepsen." America said, in no uncertain terms. "For starters, a year is far too long. The King's flagship initiative has been tabled for two weeks, and you're asking me to table mine for an entire year?"

"This amendment is your flagship initiative now, your Majesty." Jepsen corrected.

"This amendment is _our_ initiative now." America insisted. "It's as much King Maxon's as it is mine, and it is yours as well, sir. I will not shoulder an unequal portion of the burden."

"Forgive me, your Majesty, but this amendment will be perceived as yours." Jepsen said, annoyance in his voice. He'd probably never had to defend his proposals like this when Clarkson was King.

"Then we must fight that perception, mustn't we?" America said, annoyance in her voice, too.

There was clear disapproval in his tone when he responded, he obviously resented having to answer to her. "We'll do what we can, your Majesty, but I must point out that it will be fairly apparent to our citizens whose idea this amendment was. You have revolutionized the role of queen in the monarchy already, and you've only held the position for three short years. It won't be hard to figure out who is trying to revolutionize the role of princess."

"_Trying_, Jepsen?" America asked, coldly.

"Forgive me, your Majesty. Succeeding."

America stared back at him, unblinking, as she struggled to gather her thoughts through a wave of hot frustration and anger. She saw what he was doing and it was totally unfair. "This was my idea, so it is going to cost me more, is that it, Jepsen?"

"The numbers—"

"I understand." America said, cutting him off shortly. "It's a woman's amendment, and the women should pay for it. With their health, in this case, and the health of their babies."

"That's not at all—"

"Stop talking." America snapped. Someone had to stand up for these women, and unfortunately, she was sitting in a room full of men. "I understand your proposition perfectly. Maxon and I are going to throw more parties and walk more rope lines, sign more autographs and pose for more pictures, and all of the women who are giving birth in the next year are just out of luck." She shook her head, looking hopelessly at the papers in front of her, then back up at Jepsen. "_I__'__m_ giving birth in the next year."

"As such, I'm sure this is a very emotional decision for you." He said, impatiently.

"Emotional? Yes, women are always so emotional when making decisions about how they spend their money." America glared, witheringly sarcastic. Although, she had to admit, she was feeling emotional at that moment. Anger was most of the emotion, but it counted.

"Your Majesty, please don't be difficult." Jepsen said, condescension creeping into his tone.

"Don't be difficult? Do as I am told, you mean?" America spat. He was really making it worse and worse.

Jepsen shook his head and crossed his arms defensively, leaning back in his chair. "You're trying to make me out to be something I'm not." he finally snapped. "Most of the money coming from your philanthropic allowance is going to the prenatal care initiative. We need to spend that money somewhere else, it's that simple."

"It's a _philanthropic_ allowance, Jepsen, it's supposed to be used for philanthropy. Not publicity."

"The budget is being shifted around to support this amendment, your Majesty." Jepsen said, short-tempered now. "And this is what we ask of you for your contribution."

"How heavy is my contribution, Jepsen?" America asked. "This money that we're reallocating to support the amendment, how much of it is coming from my projects? I'll bet it's not exactly a 50/50 split between Maxon and me. I'll bet I'm being asked to pay a far higher price—"

"Because you have more to spare—"

"This is not spare!" America slammed her glass of water down on the table so hard that a little bit of it splashed over the side. "Infant mortality is down, Jepsen, babies are surviving and thriving. Someday they'll become healthy, productive members of our society. They are not spare! If we take this money away from them, we're risking their lives. I know you want me to sacrifice, Jepsen, and I will, but not this. I understand sacrifice, I grew up sacrificing my dinner so that my younger siblings could eat—"

"Yes," Jepsen interrupted the Queen of Illéa, "We're all well aware of your _difficult_ upbringing." he said in a tone that positively oozed disrespect and was borderline mocking.

America blinked and leaned back in her chair, her posture straightening. Beside her, Maxon leaned in, anger radiating off of him, but he did not say a word. The other men at the table began mumbling their disapproval, some of them irately. Even the ones who disagreed with America had far too much respect for the office of Queen ever to _interrupt_ her.

When she spoke, it was softly. Dangerously. "Jepsen, I understand that I am making this hard for you. That I am a new queen, and you are a seasoned veteran of this conference room. You have devoted your life to the monarchy and I am shaking it all up. I am changing this institution, and it is making you terribly uncomfortable. That being said, the institution _has_ changed. You're right, I have revolutionized the role of queen in this monarchy. _This_ is the role of queen now, it's not going back to the way it was before, and you can either get on board or you can _get_ _out_. Do you understand?" America leaned forward, eyes narrowing, locked in on Jepsen's face.

He seemed to be waiting for her to carry on. To ask him a question or ask Maxon his opinion, or maybe just lean back and look away. America did not blink. She stared him down, and saw the moment he realized that she wasn't going to back off. His face, if possible, flushed redder and a vein in his neck poked out due to the tension in his body. His lips pursed and he glared daggers at her, but he finally submitted. "Yes, your Majesty." he managed.

America nodded, leant back, turned to Stavros and said, "I'll find another way to fund prenatal care. I approve of his proposition because I have no choice, but I am not happy about this and I want that on the record. Let's move on."

There was dead silence in the room for a moment. America looked over at Maxon, but he was still glaring at Jepsen. America looked to Aspen, but he was avoiding her eyes. He was beyond furious with her, and everything in his posture showed it. In his mind, she'd just thrown Lucy, and all of the women like Lucy, under the bus. She'd used Lucy as a pawn in a political chess match, and he was outraged. Who was she kidding? She was outraged, too.

Maxon finally tore his eyes from Jepsen and turned to Stavros, "That's all for today, Stavros."

"Yes, your Majesty."

"We have a clear idea of what we're doing, moving forward, that was the purpose of this meeting. We're done." Maxon stood, and all of the advisers jumped to their feet. America was still trying to catch Aspen's eye when Maxon placed a hand on her shoulder. He pulled her chair out for her, she accepted the arm he was offering her, and they briskly exited the room into the hallway outside. It was empty, other than two guards stationed at either end of the hall.

America and Maxon simply looked at each other, frowning. They were both angry, but not necessarily with each other. No, America shouldn't have lost her temper with an adviser, and yes, Maxon should have insisted on sharing an equal portion of the financial burden for the amendment designed to protect the baby that was 50% his DNA, but that was a minor disagreement. They could resolve that relatively simply. They needed to talk, but it wouldn't be productive to do it right then, and they both knew it. Finally, America spoke, "I need some time."

"Me, too." Maxon agreed, his brow knitted. They were both brimming with anger and frustration, and they'd learned better than to take it out on each other.

"We'll talk after dinner." America said, and then she turned on her heel and left. She could hear Maxon walking off the other way behind her.

America charged into the Women's Room, anxious and angry and hurt and sad, and more than convinced that Amberly could have gotten a better deal for the women of Illéa if she'd been in that room. Tears streamed down America's cheeks and she didn't bother to wipe them off, she was too busy pacing the floor. In a moment of surging rage, America backhanded a crystal vase sitting on an end table and it flew across the room before shattering on the floor.

"Your Majesty!" Silvia's voice exclaimed. She'd walked into the room just in time to see the vase flying by. "That's a handcrafted crystalline amphorae procured by Queen Abby more than fifty years ago."

"No." America said, "It _was_ a handcrafted crystalline amphorae procured by Queen Abby more than fifty years ago. Now it's a pile of broken glass." she sniffled and then sank onto a couch, arms crossed tightly, fighting off sobs.

"Your Majesty… what…" Silvia stopped herself. It was in the protocol, subservients couldn't ask questions of queens. It was rude and prying. If America wanted her to know, America would just have to tell her.

"I need Mary." America managed, shaking. "Go get Mary, please."

Relief flooded Silvia's face. She finally a clear order from the Queen. "Yes, of course, your Majesty." Silvia curtseyed quickly and then darted from the room.

For a woman who refused to run in the Palace, Silvia returned with shocking speed, leading a confused and concerned Mary into the Women's Room.

"Your Majesty!" Mary breathed, surprised to find America with quiet tears pouring down her face, still fighting off the sobs.

"We need…" America stopped, trying to clear her head and make a good plan. There were women like Lucy counting on her to figure this out. Silvia handed America a tissue and America gratefully accepted. After blowing her nose and blotting her eyes, America managed, "We need to go through my closets and pick out some gowns, one for every province."

"I'm sorry?"

"Old dresses that I won't wear anymore. I'm about to be too pregnant for most of my clothes, anyway, and by the time I have the baby, the fashion will have changed and you'll want to make me new things, right?"

"Yes, your Majesty." Mary nodded, perched on the couch next to America, soothingly stroking her back.

"So, one dress for every province. They'll auction the dress off. That will get them through June."

"What…" Mary stopped herself, too.

America sighed. How could she admit this to them? Her head lowered in shame and sadness, America said, "I had to trade… I had to trade the funding for the prenatal clinics, for the amendment."

Silvia sank down onto the couch opposite America, comprehension dawning on her face. "Oh, your Majesty…" Silvia had worked with America every step of the way to get those clinics funded. This was as much her loss as it was America's.

"We have to… we can't… we have to do something." America sobbed.

Mary nodded, rubbing her back more firmly now. "We'll think of something. I can't make 35 dresses a month, and you can't really wear 35 dresses a month, but we'll figure something out. Miss Marlee and Miss Georgia will help. That's what we're here for, right?"

America nodded, hoping Mary was right. Hoping that between Marlee, Georgia, Silvia, and Mary, they could _somehow_ keep those clinics fully funded.

She imagined how she'd feel if she was a six, married to Aspen, pregnant and dependent on vitamins and healthcare provided by the free clinics to keep her baby healthy. And if that was suddenly taken from her, with no warning and no explanation. She imagined how she'd feel if she and Maxon were Fives, living off of his photography and her music, and there was no other guaranteed way for her to stay healthy for their baby. If it was the free clinics or nothing, and if her vitamin levels dropped too low, and then she lost the baby—

That's when she found herself leaning heavily on Mary, crying hard into her shoulder, while Mary whispered soft, gentle reassurances and maintained a steady rhythm, rubbing soothing circles on America's back.


	17. Chapter 17

"You tugged your ear." A warm, tired voice behind America announced. She'd been expecting him for a while now.

"Oh, yeah." America said, rearranging herself in her reclined chair out on the balcony to make room. "I forgot about that."

"It was before the meeting started. What did you want to talk about?" Maxon squeezed in beside her and wrapped his arm around her. They were both much calmer now that they'd had a good dinner and a few hours to think things through and settle down.

"How nervous I was." America laughed, ironically. "I was curious about your first meeting in that room. If it was anything like what happened just now."

"Not exactly." Maxon laughed, affectionately. "I was twelve years old the first time I attended a meeting in conference room A. It was supposed to be a big show of confidence that my father was letting me attend. I think it was just a trap, though. It was even more crowded than today, because it was a meeting about the New Asian War. My father hadn't given me the briefing material beforehand, then he humiliated me the first time I tried to ask a question, and he made me feel like an inadequate fool. He wanted to make sure the advisers knew that I'd never be the king he was."

America frowned and traced his cheekbone with her fingertips. "I'm sorry." America sighed, imagining little Maxon feeling so overwhelmed and alone. "For what it's worth, you _won__'__t _ever be the king he was. And that's a very, very good thing."

Maxon smiled down at her and kissed the tip of her nose, then her forehead, then the top of her hair. "My first meeting in conference room A wasn't nearly as exciting as yours was today."

"Was it that bad?"

"It was pretty scandalous." Maxon nodded. "But Jepsen was out of line."

"I feel terrible."

"I don't want that." Maxon shook his head.

"I wanted to make you proud. To make Amberly proud. I messed it all up, didn't I?"

"I thought you were just a little bit wonderful." Maxon smiled at her. "I mean, no, you shouldn't make a habit of dominating my advisers like that, they tend to resent that kind of thing, but Jepsen needed to hear what you said, because you were right. Speaking truth to authority takes a lot of courage, and I'm proud of you. I would argue, as usual, that your methods could have been subtler, but there's no doubt that he got the message, and I don't think he'll be forgetting it any time soon."

America sighed and threw her head back, exasperatedly. "Why did he have to go after the prenatal care initiative? It's the thing I'm most proud of, it's the thing that's done the most real good. I've got about seventy half-formed ideas about how to make life better for Illéans, but that's the only one I've managed to make work so far. Babies, Maxon. We're stealing money from babies."

Maxon chuckled a little at the dramatic tone in her voice, "I promise to help you keep those clinics funded in any way that I can. It can't come from the budget, but there are other things we can do. We have considerable sway, you know, we _are _the King and Queen. Think of this as a 'Carter and Marlee' situation."

America pouted a little, her brow furrowing as she tried to draw the connection. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," Maxon said, shifting to get a little bit more comfortable, "that this was a hard day. We had to do difficult things, that's part of the job. That's the King and Queen in us. But—"

America's brain lit up at the memory of the first time Maxon revealed that he'd hidden Marlee and Carter away after their caning, "There are opportunities here, and we can do great things?"

"Yes, I think so." Maxon nodded, pleased that she remembered.

"I'm donating dresses to auction off. That's where I'm starting." America announced. She looked at him closely, curious about what he'd think of that.

"Perfect." Maxon said, enthusiastically. "That's a great place to start. Listen, I know that we're taking more money from your allowance than mine, and I'm willing to work hard to make that up to you. You tell me where I need to be, when I need to be there, and what I need to do, and I'll make it happen. And if we do this well, we'll end up with an amendment _and _fully funded prenatal clinics. Happy, healthy babies all around, America. Even ours." He rested his hand on her flat stomach gently, the smallest smile on his face at the thought of their own happy, healthy baby growing larger every day, just a few inches below his fingertips.

For the second time that day, America was overwhelmed with the urge to cry. This time, it was tears of gratitude. "Maxon…" but she didn't know what to say. What words existed to express to him how grateful she was for his devotion and support and belief in her causes? For taking what could have been a major loss and helping her piece it back together into an opportunity full of hope? The lucky thing was, they didn't need words. They had that little secret language of theirs, and Maxon already knew exactly what she meant.

America looked up at the stars, letting the stillness of the night envelope her. "We've got to find some way to get Aspen to forgive us. Well, me."

"To forgive you?"

"He doesn't understand the decision I made in the meeting today. Even though they're Twos now, Lucy uses my clinics to get her vitamins."

"Really? I didn't know that." Maxon frowned.

"Yeah. Aspen spends all of his money taking care of his family, and her father. It doesn't leave much leftover. And then, with the expenses that come with having a new baby, the crib and diapers and strollers and everything… Lucy's been using my clinics to save money."

Maxon sighed, "Alright. We'll think of something. We'll win him back over."

America nodded, uncertainly. She hated fighting with Aspen almost as much as she hated fighting with Maxon. She closed her eyes and leant her head against her husband's shoulder, soaking in the nearness of him. "Also, he thinks I should tell my family. About the baby."

"He's right about that." Maxon said, his lips tickling her head.

America could hear the petulance in her own tone as she responded, "I know, just… He made me feel all guilty about it. He didn't have to do that."

"Do you want me to send him to New Asia?" Maxon offered, idly.

America snorted, "On what, a vacation? There's no war over there anymore."

"I could start one."

America laughed, "That's not necessary. Thank you, though."

"What did he say?" Maxon asked, seriously.

"He said Lucy would give anything to have a mother and sisters to support her right now, and I was… basically taking mine for granted, by not letting them smother me to death about this baby." America placed her hand on Maxon's, still resting on her stomach. She wondered if the baby could feel them. "He made me seem pretty selfish, actually."

"You're not."

"I guess… It just frustrated me because… I guess, I know that Lucy misses her mother and would love to have sisters to help her through her pregnancy. I get that. But Aspen didn't even… there's wasn't… he didn't even acknowledge… I mean, at least Lucy has Kamber and Celia and Lena, you know, to… to… I mean, at least…"

"Ames?" He was just a little worried, now. _His_ America, at a loss for words?

"Lucy has her father." America finally blurted out. "She's got him, she sees him every day, and no, he's not the same as a mother, but he's still her dad and she still gets to share this with him and he was there when she was born and he'll be there when her baby is born, and he danced with her at her wedding and gave her away to Aspen, he'll get to be there to help raise that baby and teach it to talk and tell it all kinds of interesting stories from his life and—"

"Woah, woah, Ames…" Maxon said, his voice soothing. He rubbed his hands up and down her upper-arms, hoping to calm her. It was only at his interruption that America realized that she was getting choked up yet again. "This is about your dad?"

America took a breath and twisted the hem of Maxon's shirt in her fingers, anxiously. "I really miss him, Maxon… I can't tell _them_ and not him."

Maxon swallowed heavily and pulled her, if possible, closer. "Ames, I had no idea."

"…Neither did I, I don't think." America said, feeling the trail of a tear falling down her cheek.

"This is why you didn't want to tell your family? Because your dad won't be there?"

"I _do _want to tell them, Maxon, I just… " America sniffled. "I mean, Kenna knows, but that's because she figured it out. It's not the same as having a big family announcement with everyone gathered around and smiling and excited and he's not there…He's just… gone."

Maxon sighed, thoughtfully, rubbing a hand over his face. "Alright. Okay. I'm going to fix this, I just haven't figured out how, yet."

"Maxon, you're an amazing man, and a great king, and you might be able to come up with some way to keep my clinics funded and convince Aspen to forgive me for defunding them in the first place, but not even _you _can bring my daddy back from the dead." America smiled up at him sadly, taking his hand in hers and using it to wipe the tears from her face. He left his hand on her cheek, cupping it closely.

"Have I ever failed you?" he asked, softly.

"…No. Never."

"I don't intend to start now."

"But, Maxon, he's dead—"

"Trust me." Maxon insisted. Those were magic words in their marriage.

"I do." America nodded. "I will."

Maxon nodded, and then leant back to look up at the stars, thoughtfully. "It's good that Lucy has Aspen's family. We should be happy for her."

"I am. God, Maxon, I'm _so_ happy for her. For both of them."

"But you're right, I think maybe, for just a moment, Aspen lost sight of the fact that you were closest to your father and all of your in-laws are dead. Lucy was closest to her father, and she still has him, as well as her in-laws. Not to belittle her loss, but it was wrong of him to belittle yours."

"That wasn't his intention." America said with a shrug of one shoulder. "He was just being Aspen. Saying exactly what was on his mind. Where would we be without Aspen Leger blurting out the first thought that popped into his head?"

Maxon chuckled at a thought and then spoke it aloud, "I mean, really. Do you wish my father was here to help support you, America? Like Aspen's mother is helping Lucy?"

"Oh, yeah, your dad would support me alright." America laughed. "Right off of this balcony, he'd support me." They could laugh about it now, because he was dead. They'd never have laughed about it before. "I do…" America stopped herself.

"You do, what?" Maxon asked, peeking down at her.

"Nothing, never mind." She remembered talking to Kenna about how much she missed Amberly, and Kenna advising her to talk to Maxon about it. But it wasn't an easy conversation to have. Maxon still ached for his mother's arms almost daily.

"Ames." Maxon breathed.

"I was only going to say…" America sighed, "I was only going to say that I do miss your mother, very much. But however much I miss her, I know you miss her ten thousand times more. As much as I could use her guidance now, Queen to Queen, I know you miss her advice even more, mother to son."

Maxon didn't speak for a long, long time. He just stared at the stars and began stroking her lower abdomen in a motion that was soothing for both of them. Maybe even all three of them.

Finally, Maxon spoke, "Aunt Adele offered me letters. She and Mother corresponded constantly, from the day mother left Honduragua for Father's Selection. Aunt Adele offered them to me in the aftermath of _the_ rebel attack." There were lots of rebel attacks, but only one '_the_ rebel attack'. "I told her I didn't want them, at the time. I couldn't bear to read them, and I didn't think they'd do me any good. Just make me sad. Just make me miss her even more. What if they smelled like her? What would that do to me?" Maxon paused, giving himself a moment for the audible tightness in his throat to subside, possibly fighting off tears of his own. "Aunt Adele promised to keep them safe for me. You should have them, America."

"Maxon," America breathed, her eyes shut tight. "That's too much."

"No, it isn't. Aunt Adele says that they aren't always _entirely_ honest. You know Mother was always about keeping a brave face, no matter what."

"Yes." America agreed. It was all she could manage to say.

"So I don't know how much use they'll be to you. Mother never would have written about the hardest parts of the job. But if you want them, you should have them." Maxon said. "And if there are any good ones… Maybe I could stand to read just one or two."

America tilted her head over and up to get a good look at her husband. When he finally lowered his eyes to meet hers, the expression on her face was nothing short of adoring.

America grinned up at him, and turned her attention back to the stars. There were more than she could ever hope to count.

"Oh, um, Maxon?" she was hoping to make her husband laugh now, after the difficult day they'd shared.

"Yes, my dear?"

"Your—"

"Um, dear-est, truest, wifely-est wife, of course. What did you think I was going to say?"

America choked down her laughter. "That."

"What were you going to say, my Queen?"

"Well, um, just so you know, it is totally possible that you're going to hear something about your grandmother's vase, which I kind of completely shattered today, after the meeting."

"My grandmother's—"

"Queen Abby's favorite crystalline something-or-other, I don't know, it's gone now."

Maxon laughed, his shoulders shaking, and with them, America's whole body. "Okay." he said. "And you and Silvia might come across a bill to replace a broken window in the library."

"Might we?"

"Yeah, it's not a big deal."

"No?"

"My hand slipped, rather hard, while I was referencing the national budget for this fiscal year. It went flying out the window."

America grinned at the image, but rolled over so that she could look Maxon in the eye. "After the meeting today? You were referencing the budget?"

"Trying to find another way to pay for your clinics—"

He didn't get any farther than that. America kissed him so hard and so fast, he almost bit her trying to finish his sentence. But as soon as he realized what was happening, he abandoned all words. America didn't, though. "You are," kiss, "The _best_ husband," kiss, "in the entire world!" kiss. While she'd been sobbing in Mary's arms, hopelessly, Maxon had already been working on fixing this for her. He was so wonderful to her, she almost couldn't stand it.

"Really?" Maxon asked when she leaned back to look at him. He had a goofy smile on his swollen lips. "The _best_?"

"Definitely."

"Do I get a prize?" he asked cheekily, pressing his forehead to hers.

"Oh, I think we can arrange something." America assured him, in a low, tantalizing voice. Then she leaned back to study his face, amazed. "How did you take such a long, hard day and turn it into something so perfect?" She gestured to the balcony around them to make her point. It was a beautiful, warm night.

"I have my muses to inspire me." Maxon replied, simply. "You. And the baby muse."

"Do you still have that picture from the ultrasound?"

"I take it with me everywhere I go." Maxon smiled. "It's my lucky charm." he pulled it out of his jacket pocket and handed it to her.

"Is it just me, or is it already cute?" America asked, sitting up and studying the grey blob closely.

"It's by far the cutest colorless, amorphous blob I've ever seen." Maxon nodded, emphatically.

"Maxon… I can't feel it, I can't see it, I have no symptoms yet, it has had no effect on my body at all… but I love it _so_ much."

She could hear Maxon's smile in his voice, "I know exactly what you mean."

She stared over at their little blob for another moment and then handed it back to him, "Okay. Alright." She stretched, "I need to get changed out of this dress. Are you staying outside?"

"Just a few more minutes." he said, lazily stroking her arm with his finger.

"Alright." America stood and leant down to kiss him again. "I'll meet you in your room?" He nodded.

As she spied on her husband, lying out on their balcony, America fully realized for the first time that she would never stop being in awe of that man. He was simply too amazing. And that somehow, some way, after the day they'd had, the impossible had happened and she loved him even more.


	18. Chapter 18

"I'm really glad you were able to come today, Maxon." America said, squeezing his hand. They were curled up in the back seat of an unmarked black car, driving quickly through the streets of Angeles.

"I wouldn't have missed it for the world." Maxon grinned, leaning over and kissing her. "Are you sure you're ready to do this?"

"I can't really get away with not telling them about the baby for much longer, can I?" Maxon had called Adele earlier that week and broken the baby and amendment news to her. She promised to be of use in any way that she possibly could be. That left America's family as just about the last ones in the world to be brought in on the secret.

"Well…" Maxon considered it. "Not if you value your life. I think it's getting to the point where your mother would have your head."

"Agreed." America said, with a sigh.

"I'm really glad we're going to see them." Maxon said, bracingly. "I haven't left the Palace all year. Can you believe that?"

"Yes."

"I promised Gerad a shootout match of soccer when I saw him at the Egg Roll, and it's perfect weather today. I can't wait." Maxon said, fidgeting a little in his excitement. Maxon was a different person on the rare occasions he got to visit the Singer household. 'King Maxon' was nowhere in sight, and neither was 'Prince Maxon'. This 'Maxon' was the closest thing to normal citizen 'Max' that America ever saw in real life.

"We're 'Max' and 'Mer' today, aren't we?" America smiled, vocalizing just part of her thoughts. "You're going to kick the ball around with Gerad and I'm going to catch up with my sisters, and then we're going to announce—"

"Our little shipwreck, castaway baby?" Maxon suggested, hand flying to its new favorite perch, her stomach.

"I hope our baby has your laugh." America giggled.

"What? Really?" Maxon asked, surprised.

"Can you imagine? Your embarrassing, awful, wheezing laugh on a little six-month-old baby? Every time we play peek-a-boo, it just starts baby-snorting?" America laughed at the thought.

Maxon grinned and leant in close to her. "I hope it has your everything else. Your ears." he kissed her earlobe. "Your neck." he kissed her neck. "Your nose." he kissed her nose. "Your lips…" he got a little carried away on the lips, and the next thing either of them were fully aware of, the car was slowing down and turning onto the private road leading to the Singer house. "Damn it." Maxon sighed, straightening himself up and allowing America to use her thumb to get her lipstick off of his lips. "I should have given your family a house that was farther away."

America nodded as he turned to her and helped arrange her hair and blouse so that she looked less tousled. "I know. Would another fifteen minutes have killed you?"

"Hindsight, my love." Maxon frowned. They were mostly joking.

Gerad was the first one out the front door when their car, and an identical unmarked black car for their security detail, pulled to a stop in the long driveway. Sure enough, he had a soccer ball under his arm.

"Maxon!" Gerad called out, the moment the chauffeur opened the car door for Maxon and America.

America grinned, the first one out of the car. "Hey, Ger."

"Oh, hi Ames." Gerad said, politely. That's when Maxon popped his head out of the car and Gerad's whole face lit up, "Maxon! Are you ready to play?" America smiled at her brother, affectionately. To Gerad, Maxon was not the King or a brother-in-law. Maxon was just a brother. Maxon was family.

Gerad couldn't _really_remember a time before Maxon and America were married. He was way too young to remember a time before Kota's desertion, and he was close with James, but James had to work a lot and seemed more like a substitute father-figure, having taken on so many family responsibilities after Shalom Singer's death. So Maxon had become the big brother Gerad idolized, and America absolutely loved that. She knew how much it meant to Maxon to have a kid in this world who honestly, purely, from the depths of his heart considered Maxon to be a big brother. And the two could not have been more adorable together if they'd tried.

"Wow, Gerad," Maxon shook his head as if dismayed. "You've grown about ten inches since the Egg Roll."

Gerad grinned and hugged the soccer ball to his chest. "Not really. But I've grown two inches since Christmas!" he said, eager to please.

"I don't know, I agreed to play this shoot-out with a much shorter kid. Short kids are easier to beat. I feel cheated."

"Oh, go on." America laughed. "We'll let you shoot-out your next round against Astra."

"I should say 'hello' to everybody first." Maxon said to Gerad. "I'll meet you out back by the goal?"

"Okay." Gerad grinned. To his credit, he did wrap America in a tight hug before taking off at a jog around to the back of the house towards the soccer goal that had been his eighth birthday gift from Maxon and America, and was still his pride and joy.

America gave Maxon a look that told him her opinion on exactly how good of a father he was going to be. Maxon grinned sheepishly, rubbed a hand across the back of his neck, and said, "Let's get inside."

America barely got the 'he—' in 'hello' out of her mouth before her arms were full of May Singer. "Ames!" May squeaked. "I'm so glad you're finally here, I've been waiting _all day_!"

America laughed at the dramatic, desperate nature of May's proclamation. "Sorry we kept you waiting. We had to finish up a couple of things before we left."

"I have so much to tell you," May smiled, kissing America's cheek and then pressing her own cheek to America's. "— about my boyfriend."

America's posture straightened, stiff as a board, and America's eyes flew to Kenna, who was standing a few feet away with Astra on her hip. "Boyfriend?" America asked, stiffly. Kenna nodded, gravely.

"I can't wait for you to meet him, he _loves_ you and Maxon."

"Are we allowing this?" America asked, jaw tight, unable to believe her ears.

"Apparently so." Kenna said, helplessly.

America looked over at her mother, who still had an arm around Maxon from hugging him in greeting. "He's a very nice boy." Magda shrugged.

America could have both laughed and screamed at the same time, "If I'd come home with a boyfriend at _her_ age—"

"Oh, please, Ames," May laughed. "You got _married_ at my age. I'm fine."

"You." America poked May's shoulder with one finger. "You are going to be the death of me. Regicide, May. You're killing me." And May laughed, affectionately.

Suddenly, America was receiving a look from Maxon, a lot like the one she'd give him a minute before, telling her _his_ opinion on just how wonderful a mother _she_ was going to be.

They all began moving towards the backyard where America's mom had begun to set up lunch for them. Maxon wrapped an arm around America's waist and leant down to her ear, "I want to hear more about what your mother would have done to you if you'd had a boyfriend at May's age—"

"Slain me."

"Or, say, when you were two years younger than her age."

"What?"

"And, say, his name was Aspen Leger—"

"You know, there's a very good reason Aspen and I didn't tell our mothers about our relationship. We valued our lives."

"So May's in a better place than you were at her age?"

"Yeah, I guess, so—"

"So that's really good news." Maxon kissed her lips. "And you have to let her grow up, one way or another. It might as well be this way, with her telling you all about it."

America frowned. He was right, but she didn't have to like it. "Okay. But if we have a girl, she stops aging when she gets to be Gerad's size. That's the perfect size. I want one Gerad's size or Astra's size. I don't want one May's size. That's too big." Maxon laughed and squeezed the arm he had around her waist.

America sipped on iced tea with lemon and watched Maxon and Gerad try to score goals on each other while May told her all about 'Jax' and his 'rippley' muscles, 'gorgeous' blue eyes, and 'long, smoking hot' chestnut hair.

"May, do you actually know anything about this guy's personality? Hobbies, interests, anything?" America asked, halfway through this description.

"Well, Ames, it's not really so much about the personality with us. We're really more about the physical..."

"Oh, God, May!" America winced, closing her eyes to try to block out the mental image of her baby sister and some guy named 'Jax' getting 'physical'. "No, no, no, no, no, no, no!"

"Don't worry, America, I'm not an idiot. We don't go too far. We're just having some fun. But he _is_ really sweet and super handsome, and he's a big fan of you and Maxon."

Halfway through the unsolicited story of how May and Jax met, at a huge party thrown by a very famous model, Astra ran over to America and crawled into her lap. That was the moment Maxon peeked over to see what his wife was doing and America caught his eye. "This size." she mouthed, pointing to Astra and then cuddling her closer, and Maxon laughed as America was forced to listen to how 'romantic' Jax was, writing a song on his beat-up old guitar for May, entitled 'May (you be mine?)'.

"Did Maxon ever write you songs?" May asked, wistfully.

"No. Letters, though. Beautiful, Maxon-y letters." America replied, semi-distracted between Astra in her lap and Maxon attempting to block Gerad from scoring goals.

"That's nice, too… I guess." May shrugged. "Doesn't he ever get hopelessly romantic?" she asked, as if worried that Maxon wasn't creative enough for romance.

America looked over at May, surprised, "Of course he does. He never tries to put my name in songs using incorrect grammar—"

"Oh, let it go, your _Majesty_." May rolled her eyes. She always called America 'your _Majesty_' when America's shiny, new Palace education was showing.

"When Maxon wants to do something romantic for me, he eliminates the caste system, or institutes a food assistance program. Sometimes he buys my family a house, sometimes he takes one of my hair-brained schemes to his advisers for approval. One time he sent you strawberry tarts, if you'll recall. Today, he's kicking the ball around with my little brother, and that's pretty romantic, if you ask me."

May smiled between America and Maxon. "You two are _such_ an old married couple."

America laughed, "Are we?"

"You should make him get you flowers sometimes. Or chocolates."

"He invited me to live in a palace with enormous gardens and all of the pastries I can eat, doesn't that count?"

"That was _years_ ago. You can't let the romance die, America. Romance is important."

"Oh, now you're the expert on romance?" America rolled her eyes.

"What are you talking about? I've always been the expert on romance. I wanted you and Maxon together from the moment you got your invitation to join the Selection. You, on the other hand, lacked the ambition and imagination required to see Maxon for what he really was. Your handsome prince."

America sighed, eyeing her husband carefully. "He _is_ handsome, isn't he?" she relented.

"He's no Jax, but he'll do." May joked.

America chased Astra around the enormous yard surrounding her family's house until Magda called them all to the table they'd set up outside. The roast chicken was ready, and America, for one, was famished. Gerad was trying to score on Maxon when America came up and tagged him out.

"Lunch time." America announced.

Gerad frowned and called over to Maxon, "After lunch?"

Maxon nodded, though he looked pretty tired already. America understood. Gerad was hard to keep up with.

America kicked the ball to Maxon and then walked over to him, falling into a deep curtsey. "Lunch is served, your Majesty." America announced.

Maxon laughed and then pulled her back up to standing. "Not today, my love. Today, I'm just 'Max'."

"Has anyone ever called you just 'Max' before?" America asked, wrapping an arm around her husband's back.

"My cousins, when they were learning to talk." Maxon nodded. "Well, they called me 'Mash', and I think that's close enough."

America laughed, "See, now I have to call you 'Mash' all the time."

"Did Gerad or May have something absurd they called you when they were learning to speak?" Maxon asked.

"Mhmm. I was 'Make-uh' until Gerad was about three. May settled on 'Ames' pretty early."

"Make-uh and Mash." Maxon grinned. "I like us."

"Me, too." America leaned up and planted a quick kiss on his lips.

Lunch was a raucous, thoroughly satisfying affair. Everyone got more than their fill, and the food was delicious. Magda had gone all out to impress Maxon, as usual. James and Maxon got into a spirited, enthusiastic discussion about Maxon's elimination of the draft after the ceasefire with New Asia and Gerad looked up at them both, adoringly, the whole time, just soaking them in.

America sat between May and Kenna, and Kenna leant over while the blueberry pie was being passed around and said, softly, "So, is this visit about what I think it's about?"

"I would say so." America nodded.

"'Bout time, America." Kenna nodded. "I was beginning to wonder if you were ever going to… share."

"I did it to bother you, really, it was all about _you_, Kenna. My plan was to drive you to insanity by forcing you to keep my secret for the rest of time." America said, sarcastically. She didn't need a guilt trip about how long she'd waited to tell her family. It was _her _baby, and _her _decision, and she had to do what was right for _her_self, after all. At least, that's what she told herself.

"Hm. That had some bite to it, Sis." Kenna's eyes were wide with surprise. She hadn't really earned the vicious response she'd received.

"Sorry." America said sourly, and then she realized that she meant it. "I'm sorry, Kenna." America sighed. "It's been a long road from… the Egg Roll to now. It's really stressful."

"I can only imagine." Kenna brushed a hand through America's hair, affectionately, to show that there were no hard feelings.

That's when Maxon peeked his head down the table to May and called out, "May?"

"Yeah?"

"Did you find any… um, anything useful, from our conversation last night?"

America's eyebrows flew up, "What conversation?"

May ignored her, "Oh! Yes! I think I found the perfect thing, come on." May leapt up from her seat and Maxon stood, too.

"Where are you going?" America asked, as Maxon swung by and pecked her on the forehead on his way to follow May.

"We'll be right back." Maxon promised, distractedly.

"We're not saving you any pie!" America called as they left.

"America!" Magda scolded. "Yes, we are."

America shook her head at her mother's inability to recognize that she'd been making an empty threat. "Mom, is my husband colluding with my sister behind my back?"

"I'm sure I have no idea what you're talking about." Magda replied primly, but there was something in her expression that told America that she knew _exactly_ what Maxon and May were up to.

America was on her third glass of iced tea with lemon, and splitting a second slice of pie with Gerad when Maxon and May returned, Maxon's arm around May's shoulders.

"What did you think of it?" Magda asked apprehensively, when they reappeared.

"I think it's _perfect_." Maxon praised.

America met Maxon's eyes, her expression annoyed and quizzical. He gave her a look that begged her to be patient. America carefully considered his request. Maxon _did_ like his surprises. She reluctantly relented and he gave her a huge smile as reward.

Maxon and Gerad went out to finish their shoot-out and America stayed outside with her mother to watch them. May, Kenna, and James all went inside to clean up the dishes, Astra following Kenna closely.

"He's good with Gerad." Magda said, happily, once she and America were alone.

"Yeah. I especially like that about him." America said. "God, I can't believe how much Gerad is starting to look like Dad."

"I know what you mean. It's such a blessing. All this time, I thought I'd never look into your father's face again. Now, suddenly it's peeking out at me over the breakfast table. It's a miracle."

America looked over at her mother. "I wish…" But she stopped herself. She wished her father could have lived to see this house and to see his family so well-fed and happy and thriving. To see the changes in this country that he'd loved, brought about by his daughter and his son-in-law.

Magda peered back over at America, and for a moment they locked eyes. "I know, honey. Me, too."

Maxon and Gerad came jogging over, Maxon lagging behind and sweating quite a bit. "Wow." Maxon said, coming to a stop in front of America. "I'm not as young as I used to be."

"You look good to me." America smiled up at him and offered him the rest of her tea.

"I'm serious, I need to spend more time training with the guards." Maxon gasped, gulping down the drink.

America laughed, "Right, we'll schedule that in just between budget negotiations and international relations meetings, why don't we?"

Maxon shrugged, seeing her point, and then he handed her the empty glass. "Did everyone else go back inside?"

"Yeah."

"I'm going in to dry off and talk to May. Stay here until I come and get you?"

"Maxon—"

"_Please_, America?"

America waved a hand in a queenly fashion, as if to dismiss a servant, and Maxon kissed her quickly before bounding off. Gerad followed after him.

"Why won't you let him have his secrets?" Magda asked, in a nagging tone.

"Maxon and I aren't very good at secrets." America explained. "Secrets tend to lead us to misunderstandings, which leads to fighting. One time, it nearly led to him proposing to Kriss Ambers instead of me. We gave up secrets after that."

Magda simply shrugged, "You should go easier on him, America. He's a good man, and he never does a thing without thinking of how it will affect you."

"I know that, Mom. Maxon and I are fine, I promise." America sighed. First May, now Mom. Everyone had to have their say in her relationship with Maxon. Every magazine, every one of Maxon's advisers, and now every woman in her family. It wasn't hard to see why Maxon vehemently despised people trying to tell him what to do. He'd been dealing with this for his whole life.

Gerad came back out with a tall glass of water, and Astra followed him. She wanted a turn with the ball. Soon Kenna came to find out what had become of her daughter, and then James to see what had become of his wife. May was the last one out, and she tapped America on the shoulder. "Maxon wants to see you."

"Where is he?"

"Living room." May grinned.

"What have you two been working on?"

"You'll see." May gave her two hands up from the chair and then an eager little push towards the door.

America found Maxon in the living room, an enormous framed painting half his size turned to face him so that America could not see it.

"Max?" America asked. "Are you going to tell me what's going on now?"

"Yes!" Maxon grinned, glancing up at her, then back down to the painting. He was uncertain about something. "Thank you for being patient. I have something for you."

"A painting?"

"Yes. I called May last night, and she agreed to find the right one for me. I think she did rather well."

"Where did it come from?" America asked.

"Well, that's the thing." Maxon said. "Come and sit down, won't you?"

America perched on the edge of the couch facing Maxon's side. She still couldn't see the front of the painting. "Did she paint something for me?" America asked.

"No." Maxon shook his head, then spun the framed canvas around. America's eyes widened, her heart leapt into her throat, and her mouth went completely dry.

The breathtaking figure of a winged woman was painted in broad, quick strokes, with bright, brilliant oil-based paint. She was depicted standing up on her toes as if about to take flight, clutching a necklace around her delicate neck, wild stunning red hair flying around her as if weightless. The woman had blue songbird wings spread wide and a golden crown on her head that seemed to glow with its own light. There was a crowd of awe-inspired people below her, gazing up at her, amazed. The color in the painting faded into nothing on the sides, the crowd was no more than charcoal sketches and the lower half of the woman's dress and her face were just grey outlines. It wasn't a complete portrait, but America knew immediately who had painted it. "Daddy?" she breathed, stunned.

Maxon nodded. "This is the last piece your father ever made. It was for you. May thought about trying to finish it for you and giving it to you as a wedding present, but in the end, she couldn't bring herself to disturb your father's work. But when I called and asked her if we could have one of your father's paintings for the Palace, this was the first thing that popped into her mind."

"It's… it's me, isn't it?"

"Yes."

"But how did he know?" America gently brushed her fingers across the golden crown adorning the ethereal red hair. That hair looked like a sunset, the mix of paint her father had used to create the color was astonishing. 'Beautiful' was too weak a word to describe the colors her father _had _managed to put on this canvass. "He died before you proposed, he didn't know I'd… be Queen."

"According to your sister and your mother, he started it the night of the Convicting. Watching you save that man using the necklace he'd given you inspired him. Your Mom swears that was the moment he realized that you were really going to win. It hit him hard, that his daughter was going to be the next Queen of Illéa. And he knew _exactly_ what kind of Queen you'd be. He wanted to paint it, but he… he didn't get it finished in time."

"It's still so beautiful." America whispered. When had she knelt to the floor in front of the painting? When had the tears started flowing down her cheeks? "God, Maxon… this is amazing. This is… this is…"

Maxon kissed the top of her head, leant the painting back against the coffee table and then knelt down to gather her in his arms. "I'm sorry he can't be here to share this with us. But he knew it was coming, Love. He had no doubt that you would be my choice. Look how proud he was of you!" Maxon stroked her back and rested his chin on top of her head, listening to her gurgling breaths as she tried to stop crying. "I was thinking we could hang this in the nursery. She could watch over our baby, and the one after that, and the one after that, and so on."

"You did it." America turned her head to look at him, blue eyes wide with surprise. "Maxon, you actually did it. I can't believe it."

"What did I do?"

"You brought him here." It was like a piece of her dad was with them, now, through this painting. Just in time for them to announce the baby. "I didn't think you could, but you did… Thank you." America whispered, pulling him in for a tight, desperate hug.

"See, and now you _finally_ learned your lesson about questioning me." Maxon joked, and America laughed, but it was a wet, tearful sound.

Maxon got up and brought her a damp washrag to press to her eyes, which helped with the puffiness. She sipped a glass of water and finally they decided to call everyone inside and get on with the announcement. They'd put it off long enough.

"What's this about, Ames?" May asked, as the Singers and James found seats in the living room.

America, whose eyes were only vaguely tinged with red now, replied, "Maxon and I need your help with something. All of you."

"What kind of help, America?" Magda asked. It had been years and years since her middle daughter had come to her asking for help.

"We should tell them first." Maxon said to America.

"I know."

"Whenever you're ready." Maxon took her hand. They were seated on two dining room chairs that James had brought in so that everyone would have somewhere to sit. Astra was in May's lap, and Gerad was crisscrossed on the floor, but they all pretty much fit. Every eye in the room was on Maxon and America.

America took a deep breath, and then looked one more time at her father's painting, now leaning in a corner by the front door. Then she said, "Well, guys, the thing is…" She took a deep breath and braced herself. No going back now. "I'm pregnant."

Kenna's smile was the widest in the room. Everyone else oscillated between looks of stunned surprise and eventual glee. Even Gerad was happy. May leapt up with Astra on her hip and hugged America tightly. "Oh, Ames, this is the _best_ news."

"I know."

"Congratulations." May's bright eyes teared up as she looked America over, then looked Maxon over, then squealed excitedly, "I'm _so_ happy!"

"Good." America grinned. Astra clearly didn't understand what was happening, but since she and May were so close to America anyway, she leaned over and planted a kiss on the tip of America's nose. "Thank you, Astra." America laughed.

Magda didn't say anything, she just smiled warmly over at America. Proudly, even. James took advantage of the opportunity to shake Maxon's hand enthusiastically, "Congratulations, Maxon." James smiled. Maxon had the silliest grin on his face as he thanked him. This might be one of Maxon's new favorite hobbies, America realized. Telling people about the baby.

"When?" May asked, eagerly, returning to her seat on the couch. "When are you having the baby, America?"

Maxon answered, because he just couldn't contain himself. "Late December."

"A Christmas baby!" May exclaimed, as though all of her dreams were coming true.

"Just after Astra's fourth birthday, then." Kenna smiled.

"Pretty close." America nodded.

"But that must make you…" Kenna faltered, trying to do the math.

"Almost five weeks along." America helped her. "It's still _very_ early. Which is good, for Maxon and me."

"So is that the heir, then?" May asked, excitedly. "Is that little bun in your oven going to take over for Maxon one day?"

America glanced over at Maxon, who was busy grinning at the idea of 'a little bun' in America's 'oven'. But when he caught his wife's expression, he nodded and spoke up, "That's what we need your help with. We want this baby to be my heir, but as the law stands now, that will only happen if it's a boy."

"Or if it's a girl and we have no other children." America added.

"Or, if it's a girl, and we only have girls." Maxon agreed. "So we're trying to amend the law, so that this child, boy, girl, or as it looks now, pod-monster, can ascend the throne after me. No matter what."

There was a long beat of silence, as the others in the room absorbed this information. Kenna was looking at America, very satisfied. They'd spoken about this back when it had all been theory, the theoretical baby and the theoretical amendment, and Kenna seemed to very much approve that America and Maxon were moving forward with actually changing the law.

"…You've seen it?" Magda finally spoke. "You've seen the baby?"

"Yes." America said. "We… we had an ultrasound done, last week." In her wildest dreams, Magda never would have imagined being able to see any of her children before they were born. She'd heard of such machines, but only peripherally. She'd never known anyone to use one before. "Maxon, could you?"

"Of course." Maxon nodded, pulling the ultrasound image out of his back pocket and then handing it to his mother-in-law.

"It looks just like Maxon, doesn't it?" America joked. Magda was too busy gaping, in awe, at blob in the image to laugh. Gerad ran over and peeked down at it from over their mother's shoulder.

"That's a baby?" Gerad asked, skeptically.

"It will be." America assured him. "Once it grows up a little."

"Hm." Gerad considered it. "And it will be the prince or princess?"

"Yes." Maxon nodded.

"Will it have to learn art?" Gerad asked, frowning.

America considered it, "Maybe. We haven't talked about it yet. Do you think I should teach it the violin?"

"No." Gerad answered, honestly.

"What about diplomacy?" Maxon asked. "Should I teach it how to get along with other countries to avoid war?"

"No." Gerad replied again.

"What should we teach it?" America asked, amused.

"I don't know." Gerad ran a hand through his hair, reminding America irresistibly of Maxon. "You should let it learn whatever it wants to learn."

America smiled over at him, shifting Maxon's and her joined hands over so that they rested on her knee. "We should ask this baby what it wants to do? Let it choose for itself?"

"Yeah." Gerad nodded, pleased to be understood. "Of course."

'Of course'. There was the response America had been searching for for months now. She'd pitched this amendment dozens of times to dozens of different people, Kriss, Kenna, Maxon, Stavros, the Advisers, the Queen's Council, and no one, not once, had ever replied with, 'Yeah. Of course.'

"You know what, Ger?" America said, gratitude all over her face. "I completely agree. Right now, there's a law that says that if this baby is a girl, we have to pick a prince from another country and make her move to that country and marry him, whether she wants to or not."

Gerad was slow to process this, but the look on his face was unhappy. He looked down at the ultrasound picture again, then back up at America. "Why?"

"Because…" but America wasn't sure what to say.

"Because my great-great grandfather wanted it that way." Maxon replied. "But I don't. And America and I are trying to change it. But we need your help. All of you."

America nodded. "We have an amendment to the law, ready and drafted. But in order for it to pass without putting the monarchy in danger, without risking being overthrown, Maxon and I need to be popular. Very popular."

"How popular?" May asked, softly. The idea of Maxon and America being overthrown had cast a sobering pall on the room.

"Much more popular than any other monarchs in the history of Illéa." Maxon said.

"And one way for us to get more popular is for you guys to go out and represent us. Be photographed doing wonderful things, things you're each best at, and that will help raise our popularity." America said. "Once we're past a safe threshold, Maxon's advisers will formally propose the amendment and he'll pass it. It'll mean that any firstborn princess can inherit the throne, and no princesses can ever be told who to marry."

America checked back in with Gerad. It didn't look like he'd followed every single word of their explanation, but he had a determined look on his face. He'd understood the important part.

"If I let cameras come to my soccer games, will that help the baby?"

America shared a look with her mother. They'd been so careful about shielding Gerad as much as possible from the spotlight, and letting him be as normal a boy as it was possible for him to be. "We'll see, Ger. That's very nice of you to offer to help, though."

"Did you have something specific in mind for us, Ames?" Kenna asked, looking worried. She and James clearly wanted to help, but they didn't know how. Kenna mostly stayed at home to look after Astra, and James worked in an office.

"We'll have the Palace send over a list of events and ideas, and you can choose any, all, or none of them." Maxon said. "It's entirely up to you."

"You guys…" Kenna shook her head. "_Of course_ we're going to help you. You and America are family, Maxon. And that baby is family, too. I'll be damned if I don't do everything I can to give it its best shot."

America smiled over at her protective big sister and said, "Wow, Ken. You're going to be a _fantastic_ aunt." Kenna smiled appreciatively at this.

"So basically, you need me to go to more parties and stuff?" May asked, happily. "Like, I can somehow help my baby niece or nephew and help you and Maxon, _and _party?"

"Parties are a good start." Maxon said, when America began to object to May's blatant wildness. "But philanthropy is even better. Volunteering, attending benefits… or just going shopping at a local market and allowing yourself to be photographed there. Gavril says that being in the public eye doing normal, everyday things will endear you, and as a result, _us_, in the minds of the people."

"You know what I think we need?" May said, impishly. "I think we need a meeting with _Gavril _so that we can hear more about what he says will help."

"Well, I suppose—" Maxon began, but America placed her hand gently on his knee to stop him. Now their hands were crossed on each other's knees.

"What's the real reason, you monkey?" America narrowed her eyes at May, suspiciously.

"Mom has a crush on Gavril!" May sang.

"She does _not_!" America exclaimed, scandalized, and looked over to find Magda covering her face with a hand, hiding a blush. "Mom!"

Kenna stepped in as mediator before America could absolutely lose her mind, "To be fair, Mom has always been a big fan of Gavril, even before Dad died. And Gavril is a very handsome man her age. So what if Mom has a little crush on Gavril Fadaye?"

"I'm going to vomit." America mumbled, shaking her head.

"Morning sickness?" May asked.

"Family sickness." America snapped. "Gavril's an adviser and—"

"A fox." May laughed.

"This isn't funny." America frowned but May just kept laughing. "God, May, you're such a _brat_."

"Love," Maxon finally intervened. "Could we speak for just a moment? Privately?"

America cast a death glare at her younger sister, then let Maxon lead her down the hall and into the master bedroom that James and Kenna shared. He closed the door behind them.

"Take a breath, Ames."

"I'm fine. May is just needling me because she knows she'll get a reaction."

"But this is the second time today." Maxon said, softly.

"Second time for what? May annoys me _all _the time."

"First May and her new boyfriend, now your mother being attracted to someone—"

"Maxon—"

"Both times you… well, you freaked out. But I know you want your mother and May to be happy. And it's just a harmless crush on a national celebrity. Gavril is a highly eligible bachelor, why shouldn't your mother have a crush on him?"

"Because… Just, because."

"You can't… Oh, Ames… things are not the same as they were when your father died. Everyone in your family is different now, that's how it's supposed to be. May is growing up, you have to let her do that. And if your mom starts looking at other men now, that's okay, too. We don't stop living when those we love die, and we don't try to make everyone else stop, either."

"Was that what I was doing?" America asked, brow furrowing. "_Making_ people stop living?"

"It could be that that's your instinct. To protect the world your father left behind. But you know, if he were here, he'd want you all to be happy. Even if that means letting your mother have a thing for one of my advisers." Even Maxon found it funny.

America pressed her forehead to his shoulder, thinking about what he was saying. It certainly _felt_ true. "Okay. Yeah. You're right. I'll…"

"Take a breath?"

"Take a breath." America nodded. "Although, to be fair, I don't think my dad would like the idea of May getting 'physical' with some guy named 'Jax', even if it does make her happy."

Maxon frowned, and his brow knitted unhappily. "She's been getting 'physical'?"

"_That__'__s_ what I said." America nodded, pointing to Maxon's horrified face and leading them back to the living room.

She and Maxon only got to stay for another hour before they had to go back to the Palace, but when they left, America had the complete support of her family and a painting by her father testifying to his support, too. What's more, now that America had told her family, the whole team was in place for this baby; The King, the Queen, the entire royal family, the King's Council, and the Queen's Council all working together towards the common goal of enacting this amendment to the laws of inheritance. America just had to hope that it would all be enough.


	19. Chapter 19

The unfortunate thing about morning sickness, which no one had ever bothered to tell America about beforehand, is that it is not, in fact, confined to the morning. Whoever claimed to have morning sickness that only hit them in the mornings was either an outrageous liar or had made some kind of deal with the devil for a reprieve in exchange for her soul. So, being completely unaware of the true nature of 'morning' sickness, it took America totally by surprise when her first bout of vomiting hit her at around 4:30 in the afternoon on a Saturday in the middle of a date with Maxon.

He'd done a very nice thing and taken the weekend off to spend it with her, now that they were headed into summer and the least busy time of the year at the Palace. He was making good on his promise to be there for her, this time by packing a snack of roast beef sandwiches and sparkling water to be consumed on their bench in the gardens. Unfortunately for them, the plants had been freshly fertilized that morning. The smell of the fertilizer was America's downfall. She ended up hung over a rosebush vomiting into the space between hedges with Maxon, somewhat alarmed, sympathetically patting her shoulder like she'd taught him to do with crying girls. It did not have the same soothing effect on vomiting girls, they'd learned, as she snapped at him between heaves to stop pawing her.

They gave up trying to snack and decided to bring their date inside, so that America could be near a toilet. The nausea passed and once she'd brushed her teeth, she went back to enjoying her time with Maxon only to have it interrupted again in the middle of dinner by vomit brought on by the smell of the orange sauce slathered on top of their chicken. Apparently, this baby was not a fan of healthy gardens or flavorful meats, and didn't want anyone else to enjoy them either. What a tyrant. This time, America made it to a trashcan just in time. The staff was really grateful that she hadn't had to use her backup plan and vomit into the nearest vase she could get to.

With the dramatics of the previous day, America was completely expecting to be up bright and early and spending her morning knelt before the toilet like its loyal subject. Maxon woke up at the crack of dawn to go and survey some of the grounds around the Palace with a few of the guards, looking for weaknesses in security. Even on his weekends off, he wasn't totally free. Without Maxon to eat breakfast with, America felt no big compulsion to leave her bed. She'd warned Mary not to wake or feed her, because she'd been counting on feeling sick. She was expecting the famous 'morning' sickness to wake her up, and since it never came, she slept straight through. Finally, Mary came poking around to check on her, having heard through the grapevine that no one in the Palace had seen their Queen that morning.

"Your Majesty?" Mary's warm voice cut through the fog and grogginess and America peeked her eye open.

"I told you not to wake me this morning." America reminded her.

"I didn't wake you this morning. It's now noon, your Majesty, and Lucy is on her way to the Palace with Commander Leger as we speak. You gave me the afternoon off so that I could spend some time with her, I'd like to do that, so let's get you fed and dressed so that I can relax, shall we?"

America yawned and stretched deeply, rolling onto her stomach and arching her back. While stretching, she let out something of a squeaky sigh, reconciling herself to the idea of being awake. "I haven't slept 'til noon in years." America remarked, curling up in a ball under the covers and catching a whiff of Maxon on the pillow next to hers.

"I believe his Majesty and I are being more lenient on you." Mary smirked, walking into the bathroom to draw America's bath. "Letting you sleep while you still can."

"Last Friday, Dr. Ashlar said my red blood cell count is much higher. I'm not anemic anymore, he said I'm supposed to be getting some of my energy back now. I wonder if this is normal..."

"I don't know, your Majesty." Mary called.

It was a very good thing that Lucy was coming over for lunch that day, because America was only just realizing how much she still had to learn about being pregnant. "On days when I sleep 'til noon, will you call me 'America'?"

"Absolutely not." Mary's voice replied, amused.

America shrugged and sat up in bed. It had been worth a shot.

"How are you feeling today, your Majesty?" Mary asked, walking back into the room. The sound of the water running into the bath echoed out of the bathroom behind her.

"Fine. Perfectly healthy. Confused, but not nauseous."

"Confused?"

"If I spent yesterday afternoon and evening sick with 'morning' sickness, why didn't it get me in the actual morning, today?"

"I really couldn't say, your Majesty. Would you like me to have an extra appointment scheduled with Dr. Ashlar this week?"

"No, I don't think so." America said. "It's hard to justify bothering him when the problem is that I'm_ not_ sick."

"Oh, that does remind me." Mary said, going into America's closet to hunt down a day dress. "I've caught my first hint of baby gossip."

"You have?"

"Just a rumor, nothing more, circulating through the ranks of the footmen. Justin brought it to my attention." Justin was the head of the King's staff, and between Mary and him, they kept the Palace running.

"Because of the vomiting yesterday?" America asked.

Mary reappeared, a pale blue day dress on her arms. "Yes. It's the merest rumor, the conversation went something along the lines of 'I heard the Queen was throwing up because she's pregnant.' to which the response was, 'No way. I don't believe it. She probably just caught a flu while she was out visiting her family last weekend.' If Justin quoted them correctly."

America laughed, "It still has the ring of Palace gossip to it. That's good."

Mary went over to the teapot and began making America a cup. "Make no mistake, your Majesty, that's the spark from which a great, overwhelming wildfire will erupt, and every time you oversleep or suffer morning sickness, you will fan the flames."

"Flames aren't so bad, I suppose." America sighed. "I'm meant to be starting this kind of rumor right about now. Gavril has Maxon and me making a public appearance on Monday at a well-photographed party at the Mayor of Angeles' mansion."

"That doesn't seem so odd, your Majesty."

"We're only going so that I can refuse to drink the wine, fake feeling faint, and leave." America rolled her eyes even as she gratefully accepted the tea Mary was offering her.

"I see." Mary perched on the side of the bed.

"It's ridiculous. There are minutes, whole minutes at a time where I feel like this pregnancy is really ours. Maxon's and mine. But then I turn around and I'm being asked to 'fake feeling faint' so that people will like me more, and I just feel like nothing more than some kind of chess piece. Like I'm not a person, I'm just a queen on a chessboard." America sighed, trying to find a better way to explain it. "I think it's... like a pendulum. Sometimes I'm a person, and sometimes I'm the Queen. Being a person feels right, and I want to be a person all the time. Especially when it comes to this baby. But I have to be the Queen, it's my obligation, and... that part doesn't feel as good."

"Sometimes it does, your Majesty." Mary reminded her, sympathetically. "Your position allows you to do great things. And on those days, you wear the crown with grace and dignity."

"That's true." America sighed. "And sometimes I go to work and get told that I need to gain a few pounds so the people won't worry about the health of the baby when they find out."

Mary pursed her lips in dismay, but did not immediately respond. "You're perfectly healthy, your Majesty, and so is the baby. Anyone who wants you to put on additional weight for the sake of show has lost sight of what really matters."

"Thanks, Mary." America smiled weakly up at her and handed her the teacup, and her stomach growled loudly. "I know we're having lunch with Lucy, but could you-"

"Of course." Mary nodded. "I saw the chef with fresh egg sandwiches not twenty minutes ago."

"One of those, please. And an apple."

"We got a shipment honeycrisps in this morning." Mary winked.

"Yes, please!" America grinned, standing up and tossing her nightdress onto her bed, on her way to the hot, soapy bath.

* * *

The car America sent for Lucy and Aspen arrived at exactly 1:00, as planned. America practically flew down the steps of the Palace when she saw them pull up and the chauffeur opened the backseat passenger door. Aspen let himself out of the other side and came around the car to help Lucy. It took the combined efforts of Aspen and Lucy to get her out of that back seat and upright, and no sooner was she standing than America launched herself into Lucy's arms.

It was really hard to hug Lucy with her enormous belly between them, but that didn't stop them from trying. "I've missed you so much!" America said, feeling oddly weepy at the sight of her friend.

"I've missed you, too!" Lucy grinned. "I'm so happy to be here."

"I'm never letting you leave again." America pretended.

Aspen placed his hand protectively on Lucy's lower back. "Let's get inside." he said, curtly. He still wasn't very happy with America.

Aspen helped Lucy carefully waddle up the front steps of the Palace and America kept Lucy's pace beside her, asking about the journey over and how her father was doing and how excited Aspen's family was for the baby. This got them all the way to the first floor lounge, where they would be eating lunch that day. They could have gone to the dining room, but the truth was that it was a long walk from the entryway to the dining room, and every step was a little bit of a battle for Lucy, as big as her belly was and as tiny as her frame was.

"Where's the King?" Lucy asked, slightly winded, as she basically fell back into one of the sofas in the lounge. Aspen took the seat next to her and America sat in an armchair facing her.

"He'll be down in a minute. He's upstairs getting cleaned up." She said the next part to Aspen, "He spent the morning inspecting the perimeter." and Aspen nodded his understanding, but offered no other response.

America sighed and ran a hand through her hair. Then she realized that she'd picked up yet another habit from Maxon. "Aspen, we should talk."

"What about, your Majesty?" his eyes were cold.

America shook her head, "Don't you dare 'your Majesty' me right now, Aspen Leger."

"You let that man defund our clinics." Aspen frowned.

"I'm keeping the clinics funded, Aspen!" America exclaimed. The problem with the men in her life was that they never let her explain properly before they ran off and became all 'wounded' and then sometimes threatened to propose to Kriss Ambers. "That's the part you weren't there for. I'm _not_ going to let them close, no matter what. And I would love it if you could help me think of ideas for raising money instead of sulking and ignoring me. I would also appreciate the benefit of the doubt."

"…You're not closing the clinics?" Aspen asked, his face clearly registering his surprise. He'd spent a week brooding about this.

"You should have known better." America said, bitterly. "You've known me longer than anyone else at the Palace. You know I'd never do that."

Lucy, who was looking wide-eyed between her husband and America interjected. "Do... what, exactly?"

"You didn't tell her?" America asked, taken aback.

"I didn't want to upset her."

"Maybe she'd have set you straight and reminded you that I would never just walk away from my clinics!" America scowled.

Aspen looked at America like he didn't want to believe the good news. "You're really going to keep them open?"

"Somehow, some way." America nodded.

Aspen smiled at her, just a small smile, a 'we're not fighting anymore' smile. America sighed, rolled her eyes and accepted it with a nod. She would have also accepted, you know, an _apology_.

"So, I missed something. Who's going to fill me in?" Lucy asked.

By the time Aspen and America were done explaining, as best they could without disclosing classified information, what had happened in the meeting the previous week, Maxon had joined them and Mary was there, too, in her casual clothes, a very pretty green dress and a pair of tan heels. It was so strange to see Mary in color, but the dress complimented her eyes magnificently and seemed to make her dark hair stand out in lovely contrast to her skin tone.

Aspen and Maxon sat together on a settee near the empty fireplace and discussed Maxon's walkabout that morning. Mary took Aspen's vacated spot on the couch and the ladies sat there for a long moment, just smiling at each other.

"I can't even tell you how good it is to see both of your faces together again." America grinned.

"It's good to be here." Lucy smiled. "I miss being at the Palace."

"You'll start coming back once you have the baby, won't you?" Mary asked, anxiously.

"As long as I'm invited, I'll always come back." Lucy nodded.

America smiled, "You and that baby are welcome here, any time, any day. Just say the word."

"So what's it like?" Mary asked, leaning forward and clasping her hands together. "Can you feel the baby in there?"

"Oh, yes." Lucy smiled. "I know exactly where the baby is. You can feel it, too, if you want to."

"How?" America asked.

"It's enormous." Lucy smiled. "Give me your hand." America eagerly held out her hand and Lucy took it gently, guiding it down onto her vast belly. Lucy kept their hands towards the top and felt around for a moment to find what she was looking for, before pressing America's hand to the exact spot, towards the top of her tummy and a little to the left. "That's the baby's foot." Lucy said.

America's eyes widened, and she pressed her hands a little bit harder to Lucy's belly. Sure enough, she could feel the outline of a little, tiny foot through Lucy's dress and skin. "Oh, my goodness!" It was so weird and wonderful. America gave the foot a little tickle and received a kick for her troubles, which made Lucy laugh.

"Maxon! Get over here!" America grinned.

"What is it?" Maxon asked, concerned. But once he saw what was going on across the room, with his wife's hand on Lucy's belly, his face relaxed into a smile.

"I felt the baby kick."

"You got the baby to kick?" Aspen asked, surprised. "The baby never kicks for me."

"Look, Maxon, look." America practically yanked Maxon's hand, guiding it to the exact spot on Lucy's stomach where the baby's foot was. "That's the foot. Do you feel a little baby foot?"

Maxon made a face, "How extraordinary." It was extraordinary. And totally strange. They were practically touching an unborn baby, it was odd to say the least.

"Come on, baby. Kick for Uncle Maxon." America cooed, running a finger along Lucy's belly pleadingly. After a moment, it worked, and Maxon leapt back, pulling his hand away as if scalded.

"Good God." Maxon said, staring at Lucy's stomach in awe. "Does it do that often?"

"Not as much anymore, your Majesty." Lucy replied. "A few months ago I couldn't get it to stop kicking, but now that space is so tight in there, it's calmed down."

"Where's it's head?" America asked, eagerly.

"Somewhere in the middle of my body." Lucy said. "I can feel it."

"What?" America's eyes were wide as saucers.

"It used to be right around here." Lucy rubbed her lower belly with her hand. "But this past week, I've felt it moving lower. Lena says that it's because I'm going to give birth soon. The baby's moving into position."

America grinned at Lucy, then up to Aspen. "That's amazing." She had more questions, tens of thousands of questions, and she breathlessly asked the next one to cross her mind, "Is it painful right now? Are you in pain?"

"Not really _pain_." Lucy said. "My back hurts most of the time, but I'm almost used to that. It's really just general discomfort. There's no way to fit two people in my body comfortably. And I'm always hungry or tired or…" She blushed. America knew what she'd been about to say, Marlee complained about it all the time when she was pregnant with Kile. The frequent trips to the bathroom.

"When did your morning sickness go away?" America asked, absolutely spellbound by every word coming from Lucy's mouth

"My morning sickness? Why—" A suspicious look cross Lucy's face. "You're awfully curious, your Majesty. I don't remember Lady Marlee getting questions like this when she was expecting Kile."

America blinked and sat up straight. "I'm so sorry, Lucy, was I prying?"

"I don't mind, your Majesty, I just don't really understand." Lucy said, soothingly.

America nodded and licked her lips. "It's just that I'm pregnant." America said, softly, "And I got my first real symptom yesterday and… I could use all of the advice that I can get."

It took Lucy a long moment to answer, she was stunned. But when she finally did respond, it was with an _enormous_ grin on her face. "Month three. Right around week twelve, maybe a little before or a little after." She shook her head as if shaking away a few errant thoughts. "That's when the morning sickness usually stops. Until then, saltine crackers… the little ones they put in the soup here?"

"Yes?" America whispered.

"You wouldn't believe how much they help. Keep them with you everywhere you go. I'd also recommend a bag of mints." There was wonder in her voice, even as she relayed such grounded information.

"Mints?" America asked, surprised.

"They help with the nausea. If Mary starts using a mint oil on your skin, if you use mint body cleanser and mint lotions, maybe keep a mint gloss with you for your lips… the scent settles the stomach." she had a dazed, amazed look in her eyes, and her lips were still smiling.

"Mints." America repeated.

"Mints." Lucy confirmed, sniffling a little. "I'm so happy for you, your Majesty."

"Can't you even call me 'America' _today_?" America begged. "One pregnant lady to another?" she joked.

Lucy shook her head, still smiling, "I just like to say it. After all of the work we put in to get you through that Selection… I just like hearing it and saying it and knowing that the title is _yours_. And now, after all the dresses we sewed and the hours we spent on hair and makeup and preparing you to be a princess… now you're the Queen and you're… you're having a baby, and…" Tears leaked from the corners of Lucy's eyes and she wiped them away quickly. "I'm sorry, I'm overwhelmed."

"I know what you mean." America sniffled, working furiously to hold her own tears at bay. She'd never have made it to the end of the Selection without Anne, Mary, and Lucy's loyalty and dedication. Which meant, by extension, that she'd never have married Maxon or conceived this baby, growing rapidly inside her. She owed them everything.

Maxon and Aspen cast each other nervous looks. Both of their pregnant wives were weepy, and they weren't exactly sure how to fix it. Maxon and Aspen were fixers by nature, and it was hard for them to accept that sometimes they had to sit still and be supportive because there was no way for them to actually take any of the burden of pregnancy away from America or Lucy.

"Would tea help?" Maxon finally offered, uncertainly.

America laughed and squeezed his hand. "Tea would help tremendously. Don't you think so, Lucy?"

"Yes, your Majesty." Lucy nodded.

"I'll go." Mary stood.

"No, Mary, you have this afternoon off." America objected.

"I don't mind. I want to go and make sure things are running smoothly down there." Mary said, before excusing herself.

Maxon squeezed into the armchair with America, and Aspen retook the seat next to Lucy. Aspen and Lucy described their baby's nursery to America and Maxon, it was painted forrest green with white accents and Lucy's father made the crib they were using. Carved it from some old redwood. Apparently, it was beautiful. America couldn't wait to see it.

Maxon was just beginning to describe some of the ideas he'd had for the nursery, when there was a brisk knock at the door and a guard named Markson entered, bowed to Maxon, then to America, and then stood upright. "I'm sorry to disturb your Majesties, but I have urgent news."

Maxon stood, gave America a hand up from the chair, and they both crossed the room quickly, but Markson turned back to Aspen and Lucy, "Commander Leger, it's good that you're here. You should hear this."

Aspen frowned and joined the others, leaving Lucy looking worried and alone on the far side of the room.

"Report." Aspen commanded and Markson nodded.

"We've received a video transmission from a group claiming to be rebels."

America and Maxon locked eyes, and each knew the other was thinking the same thing. How did these rebels get their hands on a video camera? Video cameras were outrageously expensive and relatively hard to come by. They returned their eyes to Markson.

Aspen said, "What kind of threat did this video transmission contain?"

Markson looked uncomfortable and confused, "It's hard to say, sir. It's in security room A, and Stavros has already summoned Commander Illéa to examine the recording."

"I should go." Aspen said, turning to America. "But Lucy—"

"You both go." America said, placing a hand on Maxon's shoulder. "I'll stay with Lucy. But I want to hear everything when you're done for the night. _Everything_."

"I promise." Maxon nodded, with a worried frown. He gave her a quick kiss on the lips and waited for Aspen to finish his goodbyes with Lucy.

"What's going on?" Lucy asked, as soon as the door was closed and their husbands were gone.

"I don't know, exactly. A rebel transmission." America shrugged. "They'll figure it out." she tried to downplay the gravity of the situation, she didn't want Lucy to worry.

"Your Majesty…" Lucy trailed off. "America. Go somewhere safe, for this pregnancy. Go to Italy, or maybe England. Get far away from those rebels and their reach. As long as you're at this palace, you and your baby are at risk." A slight tremor went through Lucy's hand, resting on her enormous belly.

America sighed and sank down onto the couch next to Lucy. When she replied, it was gently. "I'm the Queen now. I don't get to run away. And this baby is Maxon's heir."

"Only if it's a boy." Lucy reasoned, desperately.

America frowned. Lucy wasn't an adviser or a member of the royal family, she couldn't know about the amendment they were working on. So America tried a different route, "Even if it's a girl, it will be Maxon's only child for a little while. It will be born Maxon's heir, even if that status changes later. I can't give birth to Maxon's only heir whilst hiding out in Italy, Lucy."

Lucy peered over at her with those wide, frightened eyes. "You always were so brave. I knew you'd make the _best_ princess."

But, at the moment, America didn't feel very brave. Lucy had a good point. This palace was a beautiful, golden cage, but possibly no place to raise a baby.

When Mary returned with the tea, she took over the bulk of the responsibility for conversation for a while, which was good for America because she was busy worrying about what was happening in security room A. Esther, the maid America was still toying with the idea of promoting pending Mary's approval, brought them their lunch. Mary watched with a kind, yet critical eye as Esther served. Lucy kept an eye on her, too, and as soon as Esther curtseyed to dismiss herself, and closed the door to the lounge behind her, America turned to Mary and Lucy.

"What do you think?"

"She's very good at serving." Mary said, professionally. "She's a good attendant maid, but that doesn't mean she'll be a good ladies maid."

Lucy countered, "If she's smart enough to be a good attendant maid, then she's smart enough to learn all of the intricacies of being a ladies maid. You need smart ones, your Majesty."

"I don't know. To bring her into the Queen's bedroom…" Mary shook her head. It was the highest honor for a maid, having a position in America's room.

"Don't forget, she knows about the baby." America said.

"How?" Lucy asked.

As they dug into their tomato basil soup, America recounted the story about how she told Maxon she was pregnant in the first place. Sending that little note in to interrupt his budget meeting.

"She's known about the baby for three weeks now." America said. "And still, not so much as a whisper about babies until I started throwing up all over the place." Lucy smiled sympathetically at this.

"You trust her, your Majesty?" Mary asked.

America considered this. "I think she is trust-worthy. She's proven that to me. I don't know that I'd trust her as well as I trust you and Paige, or Lucy, but that's not really a fair comparison, is it? I met Paige on the night I was shot and she kept me calm while Maxon and Aspen searched for me. My life was in her hands, and she kept me safe. And you and I bonded in the crucible of the Selection, those were once in a lifetime circumstances. Esther is unlikely to have the same opportunity to prove herself."

Mary sighed, and added this consideration to her weighing of things. "I will need an extra pair of hands keeping clothes on your back… if your belly grows anywhere as fast as this one's did." Mary beamed over at Lucy and Lucy giggled. "What do you think, Lucy?"

"She protected your baby, your Majesty." Lucy said. "Give her a chance."

"Well?" America asked Mary.

Mary nodded, slowly. "I'll interview her. If she seems like a good fit, I'll start training her. But she won't set foot in your room until I'm positive that she's ready. And if she gives me any reason to doubt her loyalty or her capacity—" Mary shook her head.

"Of course." America nodded. A chance. A chance at one of the most prestigious positions in the Palace. That would be Esther's reward, the one America had promised her for keeping silent about the baby.

When the clock struck 8:00, and Maxon and Aspen still had not sent word about their progress in the meeting, America instructed that the guest room on the second floor that had been hers during the Selection be turned down for the evening. Lucy would sleep there tonight, and Aspen would join her if the meeting ever ended.

It was fun, being back in that old room with Lucy. It was hard to find pajamas that would fit her, but Paige helped, and they found a nightdress that did the trick well enough. America stayed with Lucy, talking softly about their babies, and all the hopes and fears that went along with having babies, until Lucy couldn't stifle her yawns any longer. America vowed to see her at breakfast.

After quietly leaving the room Lucy was sleeping in, America all but ran to the security meeting and slipped quietly through the door. She saw Maxon, Aspen, and August, as well as Stavros, Gavril and several assistant advisers and lower-level security assistants that America had never been introduced to. There was a large screen at the front of the room that all of the men were facing, and on it a video was paused. A man knelt in a basement, his hands bound behind his back, his mouth tied in a gag. America did not recognize the man, and could not tell if he was someone important.

Maxon had been in casual clothes for their dinner, but at some point he'd had a footman go and fetch a suit for him. If the man on the screen was in danger and Maxon was working to save his life, then America knew that Maxon would want to show some respect and dress like a king. However, it was kind of a lost cause, because Maxon's tie was loose, his jacket was on the other side of the room, his sleeves were rolled up, and his hair was a handsome, but worrisome mess. Maxon was in full freakout mode.

America slipped over to a cart of food she saw in the corner and poured a cup of steaming black coffee, then crept up behind Maxon and slid an arm around his waist. He turned, surprised to see her, and she handed him the cup. He accepted it gratefully and returned his attention to Stavros and Gavril.

"It's a bad idea to try to hide this, Stavros." Gavril was warning.

America frowned. Try to hide what?

"There is no need to alarm the citizens, I don't see this as a continuing threat." Stavros replied. "This is an isolated incident, and will remain so, unless someone does something foolish and gives in to their demands."

Demands? So this was a hostage situation.

Gavril parried, "If they have access to a camera, and they got the transmission to us, then they have the capacity to get it to other people. We need to get out ahead of this, announce it, and reassure the people in as commanding and soothing a manner as possible that they are safe."

"Are they safe?" America asked.

Both men turned to look at her, surprised to hear her voice. That's when the others in the room noticed her, too. None of them had been sitting, so no one jumped to their feet, but the whole room around her and Maxon seemed to grow taller as all of the men in the room around them shrank into a bow.

"Your Majesty, please, take a seat." Gavril insisted, pulling over an enormous, comfortable-looking leather office chair. America agreed, because she knew Maxon would like to see her off her feet, for the sake of the baby.

"Thank you, Gavril. Are the people safe?"

"That depends on who you ask, your Majesty." Gavril replied, looking over at Stavros pointedly.

"Gentlemen, take a break while I bring the Queen up to speed." Maxon announced. Even his King voice sounded tired right now. The lower-level advisers left, and Gavril, Aspen, August and Stavros congregated at the back of the room to continue discussing in hushed tones.

"What's going on?" America asked, as Maxon sat in the chair next to her and spun it to face her. Their knees were touching, and America rested a hand on his knee gently.

"They've got hostages, we're not sure where. And they want money."

"To buy more weapons and equipment?" America asked. "No way. What are they doing with these hostages?"

"Killing them." Maxon said, gravely. "One by one."

"They won't do it." America shook her head, confidently. "They want the people to like them."

"They're already doing it, America. They've already started." Maxon sighed. "The video we got… it wasn't a list of demands. It was an execution. They killed one of their hostages and _then_ sent over demands by courier. Along with a list of grievances against the monarchy a mile long. Representation in government, heavy taxation while basic infrastructure remains broken down, the neglect of the southern provinces as they slowly suffocate in factory fumes—"

"But we're fixing all of that!"

"Which is why they have to act now. While they still have grievances to rally people around." Maxon said, shaking his head.

"No one will rally to a bunch of bullies who go around killing random people when they don't get their way." America scoffed.

"People will blame _us_ for not saving them." Maxon looked like a mere ghost of himself. He was her shadow-husband. "Our popularity… will plummet."

No. No, that was not going to happen. These rebels were not going to derail the amendment and they were not going to kill her citizens. None of that was going to happen. "Gavril's right." America said, loudly, turning to the men at the back of the room who all froze and looked over at her. "We need to get out in front of this. We tell the people what happened, make it clear that this is an attack on Illéa and we will not stand for it."

"And then what, your Majesty?" Stavros asked, coming back over and sitting at the table. Aspen, August, and Gavril followed. Gavril did not take his seat, however, until pouring a glass of water and offering it to America. America gave him a thankful look and thought he understood it, as she accepted the glass from him. He sat down to America's left. "What do we do after we tell them?"

"We free the hostages, Stavros." America said.

Maxon shook his head, "This isn't like New Asia." he lamented. "We can't rain bombs down from the sky on them. We can't risk our citizens lives and the destruction of our own property."

"Aren't there other methods?" America asked. "You people don't have spies anymore?"

August replied, "We have spies in the ranks, but there's a lot of misinformation right now. The upper ranks of rebels are purposefully misleading the lower ranks, with the expectation that we have spies in there who will come to us with all kinds of garbled information. They're trying to trick us. We don't know where these hostages are, or if they're all in the same place. They could be scattered in basements across Illéa and we don't have time to go door-to-door and search every basement."

"If we go to the people without a plan," Stavros warned, "We will look weak, and discord and fear will blanket this nation."

"And if they don't find out about it from us? If they find out about it from somewhere else, and then we respond, it will look like we had no idea until some magazine ran it or some television frequency was hacked. We'll look as unprepared as the people will feel." America argued.

"Quite right, your Majesty." Gavril nodded. "Exactly my point. We cannot afford that kind of loss right now."

"But we don't have a plan." Maxon interjected.

America wanted to snap back that they should get a plan, then, but one look at her husband, and her sarcasm died in her mouth. He was scared.

Aspen spoke next, "I've got a team analyzing the footage for clues. Local troops are talking to the families of these hostages and investigating where they were last seen. We have to find the hostages before we can rescue them. Mostly, what we need right now is time. And we don't know if we have it. There's no timeline, no 'we'll kill one citizen every twenty four hours'. They'll kill citizens as they see fit."

"Until we stop them." America reminded him.

"What we need is better intel." August said, without any hope of getting better intel.

America pondered this, then an idea struck her. Brilliance she had not known she'd possessed. A distant echo of a lesson she'd had with Silvia shortly after becoming Queen. "Maxon? What about Eoan?"

"…What about the King of England?" Maxon asked.

"His Majesty's Secret Service is the best espionage agency in the world. Eoan and Waverly would lend us some reinforcements while we tackle this rebel problem, wouldn't they?"

"Perhaps…" Maxon considered it, surprised that he actually liked the idea.

"They could come over and work with Aspen and August to outsmart and out maneuver these rebels… since we can't simply carpet bomb them."

Aspen's face lit up at the idea, "We could learn a lot from them, sir."

August appeared to fully agree.

"I'll telephone in the morning." Maxon nodded.

"In the meantime," Stavros said, "A compromise. We hold off on announcing anything for 24 hours. This time tomorrow, we reevaluate our media strategy."

America looked at Gavril. It was a risk. "Twelve hours." Gavril negotiated. "If the people hear about this from anyone other than us—"

"Twelve." Stavros nodded, his face looking gray. He was worn down, and part of him seemed to agree with Gavril. "In the meantime, we should sleep. We won't know anything for a few hours anyway, until the analysts are done looking over the recording."

Maxon nodded. "Yes. We'll all be more useful after we've had some sleep. Let's adjourn this meeting."

"And gentlemen?" America said, and the shuffle of chairs that came with being dismissed ceased. "Don't come to the King until you have hard data and advice on how to proceed. He has about a thousand other pressing issues to attend to tomorrow."

She heard a satisfying chorus of 'Yes, your Majesty's and hoped she'd bought Maxon at least a few more hours of sleep.

America turned to Gavril, as the others around them stood and Maxon went to speak with Aspen and August. "The Mayor's party tomorrow night. Maxon and I can't be seen at a party at a time like this." America said.

"We'll assess the risk, you're right. We don't want to send you to a party only to have the news of these hostages break while you and Maxon are sipping cocktails with a gaggle of Twos. But if that seems unlikely, you must go, your Majesty. You cannot allow these rebels to hurt your chances of achieving this amendment. You need to drop this hint about your pregnancy. It's crucial to the plan."

"Ames?" Maxon asked, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Are you coming?"

"Yes." America stood. "Thank you, Gavril. We should talk tomorrow."

"We will." Gavril nodded, and stood, himself. He bowed to America, then to Maxon, and he followed Stavros and August out the door.

Aspen remained behind. America saw the question on his face before it could make it to his lips. "She's in my room from the Selection." America said, patting Aspen's shoulder and then kissing his cheek. "Fast asleep."

"Good." Aspen looked relieved. Then he seemed to remember something, "You should get some sleep, too, Mer."

America smiled up at him, endeared by his concern. "Who are you, my doctor?"

"No," he shook his head, "But the sky is blue, the sun is bright, and Aspen endlessly loves America."

Those were possibly the most soothing words he could have said. Especially on a night like this, after a meeting like that. "I know." America smiled, weakly. "I love you, too. Goodnight, Aspen."

"Night, Mer. Goodnight, Maxon."

Maxon nodded, still frowning deeply, and then Aspen left the room.

"_Aspen__ endlessly__ loves America_," Maxon mocked, in a grumble. "_I_ endlessly love you, too, America."

America actually threw her head back and laughed. "Are you seriously jealous of him right now? Did you see how pregnant his beautiful wife is?" America looped her arm through his and they turned down the hallway. The others were already out of sight.

"_My_ beautiful wife is pregnant, too." Maxon grumbled. "With _my_ baby!"

"That's right, Maxon." America giggled.

"_Maxon_ endlessly loves America. _Maxon_ endlessly loves America." Maxon muttered under his breath, over and over until America finally turned to him, pinned him to the wall, and kissed him fiercely before saying, "I know you do. That's why America chose Maxon."

When she pulled away, he just smiled over at her, placidly. "Thanks for the reminder."

She smiled back and took his hand. "Come on. You need some sleep, your Majesty."

"I beg your pardon, but _everyone_ calls me 'your Majesty'." Maxon teased, as they continued their walk up to the third floor. "_I _am not _your_ Majesty."

America laughed at Maxon's riff of her least favorite nickname, "That's not how 'my dear' works, Maxon. You are, in point of fact, my King and Majesty. Whereas _I_ am not—"

"You _are_ my dear. You are my _dearest_." Maxon said, firmly. "You've always been my dear, even on the night we met. You just didn't know it yet." he was so in earnest that America didn't know how to respond. At least, not until he joked, "And Maxon endlessly dears America."

America shook her head, trying to choke back her laughter and failing. "We need to get you to bed, Maxon, you are beginning to lose your mind."


	20. Chapter 20

The news of the rebels taking civilian hostages did not break over the course of the next week. Twice a day, Stavros, Gavril, Maxon, and America were checking in to decide how to proceed. So far, the only consensus they could arrive at was to do nothing. Just wait and see what Aspen, August, and the English task force sent over by King Eoan would turn up.

On Monday night, as scheduled, America and Maxon attended the Mayor of Angeles' party for all of thirty minutes before America dramatically closed her eyes and pretended to go weak in the knees as Maxon held her up and cameras clicked furiously all around them. When one of the Mayor's assistants offered her a glass of wine to help steady her, America refused to the sound of even more clicks. After a pre-party meeting with Silvia and Gavril, it was concluded that Maxon would be allowed to place a hand on the small of America's back and guide her out of the party, because this show of affection would read as 'protective', particularly given how little physical contact Maxon and America were permitted to show in public.

Sure enough, by Tuesday morning, the rumors were not so much swirling as thunderously hurricaning. Was the Queen fatally ill? Maybe the party was just scandalously boring? Or could it be… a royal baby? The bump-watch was on.

Not that there was anything approaching a bump on America's stomach, much to Maxon's chagrin. Sometimes he'd walk into her bedroom while Mary and Paige were dressing her, come around so that he was viewing her in profile, lean down to carefully examine her bare midriff, then huff, exasperatedly, and stomp back to his own room without saying a word. Up until now, America had always believed him to be the patient one in their relationship. Now she knew better.

On Wednesday, America was supposed to meet with her Queen's council to discuss different ideas for fundraisers to benefit the prenatal clinics. Unfortunately, the baby had its own plans, and America spent most of Wednesday suffering a severe bout of morning sickness.

Maxon could not have been more sympathetic when he awoke that morning to the sound of her retching in his bathroom. He had learned that a gentle, steady back rub was much more effective at soothing her than the thumping back pat he'd tried the first time America was sick. Eventually, Maxon had to get dressed for the day, so at the first sign of a break from the vomiting, he carried America into her bathroom, surrounded her with pillows so that she'd be more comfortable on the tile floor, and then kissed her clammy forehead goodbye. He promised to check in on her throughout the day.

When Mary came in to get America ready for the day, America asked that all food be kept far away from her as the smells were more than she could stand, and she also asked for Silvia to be summoned.

Silvia appeared, looking bright, fresh, and faintly repulsed, no more than twenty minutes later. The baby was giving America a break from the retching for a few minutes, so America was perched on the edge of her bed, waiting.

"Your Majesty? Mary told me that you are unwell."

"I need to stay near a bathroom, today, Silvia." America said, apologetically. "We'll be working from my room. Could you send a notice to Lady Marlee and Lady Georgia?"

"Of course."

"And bring everything we'll need up from my office."

"Are you sure you want to work today, your Majesty? If you don't mind my saying, you look terribly unwell."

It was true, one glance in the mirror was all it took to confirm that America looked like a wreck that morning. She was sweaty and her face was splotchy, her skin was clammy and her eyes had dark rings under them that gave away how disturbed by nausea her rest had been the night before.

"I'm sure, Silvia. It's what Amberly would have done."

Silvia nodded her approval, "Absolutely, your Majesty." She curtseyed and left, headed back to America's office.

"Mary?"

Mary appeared from where she had been cleaning America's bathroom. "Yes, your Majesty?"

"Makeup. And clothes, something _extremely_ comfortable."

It was hard to get much done in the meeting, which felt like more of a pajama party. Marlee and Georgia sat cross-legged on America's bed and Mary and Silvia sat in America's armchairs. America kept having to dry heave every twenty minutes or so, though the bag of mints and box of saltine crackers Mary brought up from the kitchens did a lot to help space out the vomiting.

When Maxon made it to her room to check on her during lunch, he brought interesting news that he shared with all of them. "I had a call from Elise today."

"About her ceremony?" America asked. Mary had pulled one of Maxon's arm chairs into America's room, and that's where America sat, slouched, with a cold washcloth pressed to her forehead.

"What ceremony?" Marlee asked, curiously.

"Elise is taking the oath to formally become one of Maxon's advisers..." America couldn't remember when.

"Next Thursday." Maxon reminded her, gently, looking her over with concerned brown eyes. This might have been the sickest he'd ever seen her. "But, no, that's not why she called. She and her husband want to meet with us about possibly licensing a publication for Rolph."

"If I know Rolph, what he really wants is for us to remove the royal license requirement." America said, and Maxon nodded.

"However, I was thinking of what Elise mentioned to us on her last visit, in the safe room, about how Rolph could be potentially useful to us."

"Well, he is a supporter. We could use all of those that we can get right now." America agreed.

"I was thinking we could squeeze them in on Saturday, along with Gavril, and of course, Silvia." Maxon nodded deferentially to Silvia.

"It would be an honor, your Majesty." Silvia assured him.

America took a breath, feeling a fresh wave of nausea roiling in the pit of her stomach. "Why?" she managed to say.

"Just to explore the option of giving him a license. Seeing what he wants to do with it. It could be that he's just the man we need to spread our message to the lower castes."

America dragged the wash cloth over her face, but it didn't make her feel much better. "He won't want to spread our message anywhere. He'll want to spread an independent message."

"I know." Maxon nodded. "But would you be open to meeting with him? For me? And Elise?"

"Of course." America said, then she stood, "Excuse me." and she walked swiftly into the bathroom to begin dry heaving again.

At this, Maxon had to intervene and dismiss the council meeting, insisting that America take the day off and get some rest. Mary left to eat lunch, but stayed with America for the rest of the afternoon to keep her company. America slept as much as the nausea would let her.

That evening, when Maxon returned and America still wasn't feeling any better, he summoned Dr. Ashlar, who arrived just as America started vomiting yet again. The doctor listened to Maxon's concerns, that America couldn't rest, hadn't eaten all day, couldn't keep her vitamins down, and that if this kept up, the baby might be put in danger.

In typical Palace fashion, Dr. Ashlar provided America with a bottle of pills to help with the problem. America was reluctant to take them, because she was unfamiliar with, uncomfortable with, and mistrustful of medication, having grown up as a Five. However, not even America could deny that, once she'd taken two of the pills, she did not throw up for the rest of the night and was finally able to sleep soundly. Maxon was able to sleep soundly, too, because he wasn't up all night worrying about her. That more than motivated America to keep taking the pills, no matter her prior-caste prejudices.

By Saturday, America was feeling much better. During her usual Friday checkup, she got a clean bill of health and, according to Dr. Ashlar, gained almost a quarter of a pound that week, which was very good growth for having just completed her sixth week of pregnancy. That night, as she and Maxon sat out on the balcony and discussed the week to come, the rebel threat, and their latest polling numbers, Maxon asked her if she still wanted to meet with Elise and Rolph to discuss licensing him to cover the royal family.

"We'll meet with him." America had agreed. "But I don't think he wants to 'cover the royal family' the way that Gavril does. I think he wants to publicize information that we tend to keep classified. He's after political intrigue, not family gossip."

"I can always revoke a press license." Maxon had argued.

"At what cost? Suppose the people were on his side? They wouldn't like for you to revoke his license. And it wouldn't erase the knowledge of the things he could tell them."

"When did you get so paranoid, my love?"

"When rebels started beheading my subjects in an attempt to overthrow our monarchy and take a wrecking ball to all of the progress and improvements we've made to life in Illéa."

The truth was, America was seeing demons around just about every corner, these days, and with good reason. Aspen, August, and the English task force still hadn't managed to discover the whereabouts of the hostages, so they couldn't even begin to plan a rescue mission. It was hard to say how much time they had left, or why the rebels hadn't gone public and told all of Illéa what they were doing. Stavros figured that they wanted to kill more hostages so that Maxon would look completely incompetent and weak when they finally did announce their threats. It was not the most settling nighttime conversation to be having, at any rate.

The next morning, Maxon and America were coming out of a security update on the hostage situation when Elise and Rolph arrived for tea. They all sat in Maxon's office and Esther served them expertly, although a bit nervously. It was clear that Mary had already begun working with the girl.

"Thank you, Esther." America said, to dismiss her, and once the door to Maxon's office was closed, their informal meeting began.

"I apologize if America and I are a little slow today. We've just come out of the most taxing meeting." Maxon said, rubbing his eyes with one hand and using the other to take a long drink of coffee.

"We really are glad you're here." America smiled at Elise, who nodded back, sympathetically.

"I'm sure I'll read all about it in my introductory briefing packet once I'm sworn in." Elise said. The morning after Elise pledged her oath to Maxon at the ceremony, she'd be given a thick packet containing classified updates on every aspect of the country.

"Yes, you will." Maxon assured her. "Enjoy your final days of freedom, Elise." he wasn't really joking about that.

"So, Rolph," America said, sipping her tea. "Elise mentioned that you wanted to talk to us about possibly licensing you to provide press coverage for the Palace?"

Rolph, who was a quiet, smoldering type, who always seemed to be thinking the most extraordinary thoughts and always seemed to have the hint of a smile on his lips as he watched others thinking their thoughts, leant forward in his enthusiasm. "Well, your Majesty, I intend to cover a whole range of topics, but chief among them would be the Palace, you are correct. You see, I've acquired a printing machine."

America and Maxon's eyes met, and they read each other's minds perfectly. Maxon spoke for them, "How is that possible? Our presses in Illéa are issued by the Palace."

"It's not the same kind of printing machine that produces those glossy magazines we use as news sources." Rolph explained, and one of his knees began bouncing in his zeal. "It's more like the kind of printing used to make books."

"Books." Maxon frowned. Books were not widely printed in Illéa, other than a select few used to teach children. The variety wasn't large, and there was no store to go to and purchase more copies.

Elise placed a hand gently on Rolph's knee to stay its bouncing, then explained, "Rolph has family in the German Federation, and they inherited a printing machine. They requested permission from the Chancellor's office to send it overseas, to Rolph. The Chancellor is very pleased with Illéa right now, something about a favorable prorated tariff that Maxon allowed them to renegotiate…" America shared a small smile with Maxon, pleased that he and his economics team were able to change the trade agreement to help the struggling Germans. "Anyway, it was easy to get the blessing of the German Federation." Elise concluded. "So now… we have a printing machine."

"I'd like to use it to make low-cost newspapers." Rolph announced, as if his statement was the most obvious thing in the world, rather than completely obscure.

"News papers?" America asked, confused. "I don't understand. What do you mean?"

"It's an old practice, some of our allies still use them. England, the German Federation, as well as Italy, I believe."

"But _what_ is it?" America asked.

"It's a way of disseminating printed news, your Majesty." Rolph explained.

"Oh." America had a vague recollection, "Printed news papers… my father mentioned them to me, once."

"That's right. Illéa never had them, as such, but the American State of China, and the United States of America both had them, for a time."

"And they're like books?" America asked.

"Like magazines, but without the glossy photographs. If there are photographs in a newspaper, they serve to help illustrate an article. They aren't there for entertainment."

"So it has articles, like magazines?" America asked, struggling to imagine what Rolph was describing, having never seen one in real life.

"It does, your Majesty. I would cover international news, I'd have a section for local province news, and of course, news from the Palace."

"How often?" America asked.

"I'd start off every week, and then as business picked up, move to a fresh printing every day."

America turned to Maxon, "Have you seen news papers abroad?"

"In passing. I think I understand the theory of them at any rate." Maxon nodded.

"My goal would be to keep the cost of each newspaper as low as possible, so as to ensure access to as many people as possible. I know that the price of magazines can be prohibitive, and as such, a large swath of the Illéan population remains ignorant about the goings on in the world, both in Illéa and overseas. I'd like to help fix that, but _as the laws stand now_, I require a royal license."

Maxon smiled into his coffee mug, "I'm afraid the Queen and I are enacting all of the changes to laws that we can handle, right now." America glanced at him, smiling, too. "However, we can certainly discuss issuing a license to you."

There was a loud, firm knock from the doors that separated Maxon's and America's offices. "Come in." Maxon called, looking over, curiously.

Gavril and Silvia entered the room together, from America's office. Gavril bowed, first to Maxon, then to America, and Silvia sank into a deep curtsey.

"Gavril, Silvia." Maxon greeted them, and they straightened up. "Thank you for coming in on a Saturday. You'll both remember Lady Elise, of course?"

"Of course." Gavril smiled, taking Elise's hand and pressing his lips to her knuckles while Silvia said, "Hello again, Lady Elise."

Maxon continued, "And this is Lady Elise's husband, Rolph Lemex. I don't believe you've met before, have you?"

"No, we haven't." Gavril said, shaking Rolph's hand, while Silvia greeted, "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Lemex."

Gavril pulled up an arm chair and offered it to Silvia, then pulled up one next to her for himself, as America explained, "Rolph was just telling us that he has a printing machine and would like a license to produce news papers."

"Newspapers? Really?" Silvia asked, surprised. She knew of newspapers mostly in an historical context. Gavril, who knew everything about media, and so, of course, knew about newspapers was also surprised.

"I can't see any reason why we shouldn't grant you this license, Rolph." Maxon said, thoughtfully. "That being said, we could certainly use your help right now."

"Ah." Rolph said, a little deflated. "I was afraid of this. Your Majesty, I insist that I operate independently, I refuse to become a mouthpiece for the Palace. I won't be printing your propaganda in my newspapers, no matter how much I like you."

Maxon had an half-smile on his face at this odd semi-compliment. "I understand. That's not really what I'm talking about. You see, America and I are undergoing a massive effort to raise our approval ratings so that we can safely enact some new legislation, legislation we believe you will very much approve of."

"We haven't discussed how we're going to announce this legislation yet." America said, glancing between Gavril and Maxon, "But when we do, we could guarantee your paper exclusive access."

"Your Majesty," Gavril objected, "You must also consider announcing on the _Report_. Your citizens all have access to the _Report_, not all of them will be able to access Mr. Lemex's papers by the time we go to announce this legislation. It's important that our message reach all of their ears, and that it be _our _message. Not Mr. Lemex's version of our message."

"We could announce on the _Report_." Maxon agreed, "And then do an exclusive, in-depth interview with you, Mr. Lemex. That would sell some papers, wouldn't it?"

"Yes… it would." Rolph seemed hesitant.

"Gavril?" America asked.

Gavril had a deeply mistrustful look on his face. "I suppose that _could_ work."

"What would you want in exchange?" Rolph asked, warily.

"We want our message to reach as many people as possible. In printed news, it is easier to go into details that we could not go into in broadcast news." Maxon explained. "We've got this legislation we want to enact, and leading up to it we're hoping to educate and sway some public opinion, not just on America and myself, but on the issues surrounding our legislation."

"What is this legislation?" Rolph asked.

"We can't tell you." America said. "Not right now, anyway. You'll be brought into the loop in bits and pieces. Elise already has an idea about what we're up to, she and I had a discussion the last time she was at the Palace."

"Oh." Elise realized, her mouth in a circle and her eyes wide. "You're going forward with that?"

"Absolutely." America nodded. "Of course, you cannot share information you learn in your capacity as adviser with Rolph, and it becomes especially dangerous if you accidentally share that information and Rolph decides to print it."

"That would be treason." Maxon agreed. "And I'm not sure that I would be in a position, after such a public infraction, to pardon you and spare you the punishment. You understand the risks, don't you?"

"Of course." Rolph insisted.

"Now then, as for being our 'mouthpiece'," Maxon smiled, "That's not what we want. You may print anything you see fit to print, including criticism of this monarchy. I ask that you refrain from printing criticism of my family on a personal level, but I doubt you would do such a thing, as you and Elise are our friends."

"Rolph would never do that." Elise said, simply, and America believed her. As if Elise would marry someone disrespectful enough to print personal criticism and call it 'news'.

"I could criticize the monarchy? And I wouldn't be sent to prison?" Rolph clarified.

"Criticism is healthy." Maxon said. "I wouldn't send you to prison for calling us out and holding us accountable for our actions. We hope that this criticism would be constructive and never fail to mention the progress we're making in whichever field you're criticizing us on. But it's your paper, it's up to you."

"We will give you all of the access we can spare." America said. "And in exchange, we want you to tell everyone what we're doing. Spread the word."

"…Yes, that _is_ the job of a newspaper." Rolph reflected. "Really? That's it? As long as I'm talking about what you're doing, I am free to print what I please? Even if it's criticizing you?"

"Yes." Maxon said, hesitantly.

"Sir," Gavril interrupted, "I must advise you to move foreword with caution. Mr. Lemex won't be an adviser, he won't always have the perspective to understand what he's seeing. He could do real damage to your reputation, and to the reputation of Queen America."

Rolph frowned and said in an insulted voice, "I'm not an irresponsible journalist, Mr. Fadaye, I assure. But unlike you,_ I _won't be on the monarchy's payroll."

America stayed Gavril's annoyed response by simply lifting her hand in the air. "Gavril is just being protective of us, Rolph. He's watched Maxon grow up, he was there as Maxon and I met, fell in love, and were married. He's not just our adviser, he's one of the family. He loves us, and he's worried about the ways in which you could possibly hurt us." Then America turned to Gavril and said, "But it's a risk we have to take, Gavril. We have to try new things and hope that they work, that's the only way we're going to get our approval ratings high enough. You understand that, don't you?"

"Of course I do, your Majesty." Gavril nodded, warmed by America's kind words.

"And I'd rather bet on the man Elise Whisks found worthy than on a complete stranger." Maxon smiled at Elise.

Rolph almost couldn't believe it. Perhaps he'd been expecting more demands. "So all I have to do is report on what you and the Queen are doing, and I get my license?"

"Yes." Maxon nodded. "You will have to work with us, Rolph, but we'll never tell you what to write or censor what you say."

"That's very generous, your Majesty." Rolph said.

"You should start with Elise's ceremony next week. You won't have the paper up and running by then, but you could write the article and print it in your first issue." Maxon suggested.

"And Maxon will be announcing a major initiative to do with his Southern Cleanup efforts in the coming weeks." America said. "We could certainly credential you to cover that announcement."

Maxon smiled over at America and took her hand, "We'll have _several_ exciting announcements in the months ahead, and we'll invite you over for interviews about as often as we can. Provided that you get those interviews into the hands of as many people as possible."

"I can do that." Rolph assured them.

"Very good, then." Maxon smiled. "Gavril will start the paperwork, we'll have your license by the end of the afternoon, if you and Elise want to stick around."

"Your Majesty?" Silvia said to America, "We have a meeting with the chef."

"Oh, that's right." America sighed, and stood, and the whole room got to their feet. No matter how long she was Queen, sometimes that still caught her off-guard. "We're setting the menu for your celebration, Elise." America smiled. "You like salmon, don't you?"

"Very much, your Majesty." Elise smiled.

"I thought I remembered that." America leant up and kissed Maxon on the cheek. "I'll see you at dinner."

"See you then." He nodded, "Oh, and Silvia? Don't let her forget to eat lunch."

"Chef always has samples for me to try when I'm in the kitchens approving menus." America promised him.

"Right, but you can't sample this one." Maxon said, simply.

America blinked. "What do you mean?"

Maxon's eyes darted over to Rolph and Elise. "I mean…"

"I'll take care of it, your Majesty." Silvia promised, giving Maxon a knowing nod.

"Thank you, Silvia."

They said their goodbyes to Elise, Rolph, and Gavril, then Silvia followed America out into the hall. "What was that about?" America asked.

"Fish, your Majesty. You cannot eat fish right now."

"Why not?"

"High levels of mercury, your Majesty, it's not good for…" she took a look around, but they were out of earshot of the nearest guard. "It's not good for the baby." she said in a hushed whisper.

America sighed, heavily. "Right. Then you're tasting the salmon today and if the chef asks why…"

"He won't ask why, your Majesty, he won't question his Queen." Silvia said, disdainfully.

"He might not ask, but he'll wonder why. I should have a believable reason."

"You'd rather taste the vegetarian option?" Silvia suggested.

"And the desserts." America grinned. They walked in silence for a moment. "Did Gavril say anything to you about… this decision, to license Rolph Lemex?" she asked. Usually, if Gavril had concerns like the ones he'd mentioned today, he would have addressed them with Maxon and America long before an official meeting.

Silvia considered her answer carefully. "He's worried, your Majesty. It's risky. He has your family's best interests at heart, and he's worried about granting someone access to you who doesn't have your best interests at heart. Personally, I think Gavril underestimates himself."

"You do?" America asked, peeking over at Silvia and trying to decode the look on the older woman's face.

"Gavril didn't get to be where he is today by mistake. He's the best of the best, and I thoroughly believe that, if it came down to it, he could use his prowess to eliminate Mr. Lemex as a threat."

"I didn't know you thought so highly of Gavril." America smirked. "I can't say that I disagree."

Unless America's eyes were very much mistaken, Silvia blushed faintly as she squared her shoulders and continued down to the basement in silence.


	21. Chapter 21

America could have slept for a week after Elise's oath ceremony. She was followed, not so subtly, by every camera in the room all evening as the various photographers tried to spot a baby bump and confirm the rumors of a royal baby once and for all. Mary and Paige, with a little bit of detail stitching by Esther, made a looser-fitting gown for the occasion, so the photographers never quite got a clear shot of America's middle. This did nothing but fuel the baby rumors, along with the fact that America didn't eat the fish, didn't drink the champagne, and left an hour before the party finished, claiming a headache. The next morning, there were pictures of her, with captions suggesting a royal pregnancy, in every magazine in Illéa, and America and Maxon were awoken in the very early hours of the morning by a knock at Maxon's bedroom door. The guard on duty in the hallway popped in.

"I'm sorry, your Majesty, but there's a call waiting for you."

Maxon yawned and mumbled, "I'll be right there."

"Oh. I'm sorry, your Majesty… there's a call waiting for _her _Majesty. From Italy."

"Oh, no!" America sat bolt upright and rubbed a hand over her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose tightly. "I never told Nicoletta."

Maxon chuckled and pulled the covers up to his chin. "She's going to murder you."

"I'm thinking of self-immolating now, to spare myself the grisly assassination." America grumbled, and Maxon laughed as she tossed the duvet off of her legs and her feet made contact with the thickly carpeted floor.

The Princess of Italy kept the Queen of Illéa on the phone, in a virtually unbroken rant of beratement, for over an hour. Sometimes the words were english, sometimes italian, but always with a tone of disappointment, disapproval, or even downright anger. Finally, America had to interrupt.

"Nicoletta, I'm _so _sorry, I know I promised I would tell you when I had something to tell, and then I just kept forgetting, but I _am _pregnant, and as such, I really, _really _need to get to breakfast so that I can feed the future King or Queen of Illéa before starting my day."

There was dead silence on the line for about fifteen seconds. America thought, for a moment, that they'd been disconnected, but then Nicoletta said, in a commanding tone, "I am the godmother."

America blinked, surprised. "What?"

"I am the godmother." Nicoletta repeated, with absolute certainty that what she was saying was already true, and not in anyway a request or suggestion.

America shook her head and smiled a little, "I don't know, Nic, Maxon and I haven't—"

"I am the godmother."

America laughed, "But my sisters, and Marlee—"

"Talk it over with Maxon. I think he'll see it my way. If the future King or Queen of Illéa has an Italian monarch for godmother, it could do wonderful things for our firm but young friendship as nations."

America rolled her eyes, "Nic, you can't threaten the alliance just to jockey yourself into prime 'godmother' position."

"Watch me. Now, go and eat your breakfast. Feed my godchild."

America sighed, exasperated and amused in equal measure. "Have a good afternoon, Nic."

"And you have a good morning." The line went dead.

When America told Maxon about Nicoletta's demand over breakfast, Maxon gave an unattractive, and decidedly un-Kingly snort of amusement right into his poached eggs. He told her that he'd talk it over with his advisers, specifically Elise to gauge how New Asia would respond to Illéa honoring Italy and not them.

Elise, who was extremely busy settling into her first days as an adviser and reading through all of the briefing materials to get caught up, was unable to do better than a quick memo to the King and Queen the following Monday that said, in effect, that the New Asians had much better things to do with their time than worry about who was going to be godmother to a baby born on the other side of the world. And anyway, America's friendship with Nicoletta was well-documented, and making Princess Nic the baby's godmother wouldn't be perceived as anything more than an act of friendship between two women, not two countries. And also, congratulations on the baby!

Nicoletta was much ameliorated when she received the message from America that,_ fine_, she could be the godmother, then.

* * *

On Wednesday night, there was going to be a very special edition of the _Ill__é__a_ _Capital Report, _in which, after the delay suggested by Jepsen at the war council meeting, Maxon _finally _launched his official Southern Cleanup Initiative. It came complete with a ten year plan to purify the air, water, and soil in the southern provinces, as well as scheduled shipments of clean food and water until the southern sources of food and water passed a certain threshold to be considered safe to consume. There would also be doctors volunteering time and resources to help care for those suffering worst from the current climate in the south.

This initiative was something Maxon and his mother used to talk about when Clarkson wasn't around. Maxon could remember being ten or eleven when he first realized, from a lesson he'd received from one of his tutors, that his mother's ill-health was connected to her upbringing in Honduragua. He'd gone to her immediately and spoken with her about it at-length, and when he'd asked, with wide, imploring eyes, if there was anything he could do to help, Amberly had replied that, someday, when he was King, there would be no limit to what he could do to help.

America, who knew all about Maxon's deep connection to this initiative, and was feeling particularly hormonal that day, broke down into loud, wailing sobs as she listened to her husband practice his announcement in front of the mirror in his bathroom. Maxon poked his head out of the bathroom, confused and concerned.

"Ames?"

"She would be _so _proud of you." America groaned into Maxon's pillow, clutching it to her body for dear life.

Maxon chuckled a little, sat his speech down, and joined her, gently, on the edge of his bed. "What did you say? I couldn't understand you."

America hiccoughed and lifted her eyes to his, "Shewouldbesoproudofyou." America managed, quickly, before another sob wracked her body and she buried her head back in his pillow.

Maxon gently patted her back and told her everything was going to be fine, in his most soothing voice, over and over, until the sobbing quieted and all that remained was a devastating ache in her chest.

America peeked one eye up at him and said, hopelessly, "I want her back, Maxon."

Maxon nodded, a deep and unspeakable sadness reflected in his eyes. "I know. Me, too, my love."

"This initiative would have meant the world to her, Maxon. She would be _so_ proud of you. It kills me that she'll never see this."

Maxon frowned and nodded, then pressed a kiss to her shoulder. "Aunt Adele is going to see it, though. Do you know what she said when I told her I was finally announcing it? She said it was yet another remarkable and lasting effect my mother had on this country. And she's right." America nodded her agreement sadly, and Maxon sighed and pulled her into his lap. "This is a good thing, America."

"I know."

"We need to be happy about the good things, because we've got plenty of bad things to make us sad."

"You're right."

"But do you know what I love?"

"What?"

"I love that you love her _so_ much. I _love _that, America."

"How can I help it?" America sniffled, peering into Maxon's warm, brown eyes. "She's the best thing that's ever happened to this country."

"You know," Maxon smiled, touching the tip of his nose to the tip of hers, "Some people would argue that that's _you_."

America shook her head a little and said, "But without her, I wouldn't be here. You got all the best parts of her, Maxon. And because of that, you were spared the worst parts of your father. Your compassion and your sense of 'right', your ability to love with your whole being, with no restraint, and not just your country, but me. You got all of that from her. If your father had chosen another woman in his Selection, you wouldn't exist, the person with your job wouldn't have half of your goodness, and I wouldn't be here at all. I'd be in Carolina with Aspen, God knows what would have happened to Lucy, and neither of our babies would ever exist. Amberly started it all. Every good thing you or I accomplish in our time in this Palace will have its roots with her. I just wish she knew it."

Maxon had no idea what to say to this. He was overwhelmed by this view of things, and overwhelmed by his wife's gratitude for his mother. He flopped back on the bed with a heavy sigh, and then America curled up laying across his body so that her nose came to rest against his left cheek, but his right arm had easy access to the outside of her thigh, which he began to stroke, softly and absentmindedly.

After a minute or two of silence, Maxon said, "I love you, America."

"I love you, too."

"If you'd ever said something like _that _to me during the Selection, I'd have put that ring on your finger so fast it would have made your head spin." Maxon said.

"We all admired her, Maxon."

"That was much more than admiration, Ames." Maxon said, seriously. America didn't know what to say, so she gently placed her hand on Maxon's right cheek and traced his cheekbone with her thumb while they both tried to figure out what to do next.

Maxon turned his head incrementally, so that he could see her better, but she did not stop stroking his face. He considered her for a moment and then said, "Adele was planning to bring Mother's letters when she and my cousins come in for the official, televised baby announcement at the end of June. But I can get them couriered over by the end of the day, if you need them now."

"No." America blinked, and her lashes tickled his cheek. "I can wait." She promised in the tone a child employs when they promise that they can be good.

"Wear her crown tonight." Maxon offered.

"No, Maxon, it's fine—"

"You should wear it. She'd like that. Then her influence on this initiative would have a visible presence in the announcement."

America sighed, her breath tickling Maxon's face. "Okay." she agreed, but there was apprehension in her voice. The last person to wear Amberly's crown had been Amberly.

"I'll write a note so that Mary can get it from the vault. You should warn her now, though, because the crown will need to be polished by the jeweler before tonight, and that will take a bit of extra time." America responded by placing a string of kisses along his jawline. "America?" Maxon asked, confused about how quickly this mood swing had come on. Not five minutes ago, she'd been crying inconsolably, and just a few seconds ago they'd been talking about her mother-in-law, not the most romantic topic in history. Her response was to move to his earlobe and give that plenty of attention. "America? I should r-rehearse." he tried again, his voice higher in pitch as her hands untucked his starched white shirt and found their way to his bare chest.

America didn't answer him, her hormones were now leading her in a direction entirely antithetical to him ever getting back into that bathroom to finish practicing his speech.

* * *

Ten minutes before the _Report_ was supposed to go live, Maxon and America stood on the set having a last minute rundown with Gavril as he talked them through the order of the broadcast. Maxon had a light sheen of sweat on his forehead that had nothing to do with the bright stage lights. He was incredibly nervous, and he absentmindedly placed his hand in his right front pants pocket in a familiar gesture, feeling for something. Then he turned to America, wide-eyed and said, "I forgot it!"

America and Gavril met each other's eyes uncertainly for a moment, then America said, "You forgot what, Maxon?"

"The ultrasound image. It's not in my pocket. I left it in my other pants. I need it, it's my lucky charm!" It was true, Maxon had been keeping that image with him every moment of every day, and he _had _been referring to it as his 'lucky charm', but America hadn't realized that he had an actual superstition about it.

America looked to Gavril, "Who can run and fetch the image from the King's other pair of pants?" Her lips twitched upward at the phrase but she stopped herself from outright smiling because Maxon was in such an adorable panic.

"I can spare Silvia for the few minutes it would take." Gavril concluded, rushing off to the back of the room to inform Silvia of her new responsibility. If this was happening at the end of June, anyone standing around would be able to run and get the ultrasound image, but since the baby was still only a rumor to most of the people in the Palace, the only ones who could fetch the image were the ones who already knew about the baby and were in the studio for the _Report _broadcast, and that left their choices rather limited.

Maxon paced a few feet back and forth in front of America a few times until she placed her hands on his shoulders to stay him. "Silvia's bringing it."

"I know."

"She'd rather die than fail us, you know that." America smiled.

"I just can't believe I forgot it." he looked wracked with guilt.

America smiled up at him and wrapped her arms around his neck. "You know, before this baby, you used to say that _I _was your lucky charm."

Maxon finally smiled down at her. "Of course you are. Kiss for luck?"

America scrunched up her nose happily and Maxon grinned, then she went on tiptoe and pressed her lips to his, giving him a lingering kiss.

They were interrupted by a chorus of 'Aww's. The studio audience was eating up this little show of behind-the-scenes affection. America and Maxon each took a sharp step backward as they remembered that there were other people in the world, and each wiped their lips a little, blushing. Maxon still had some of America's red lipstick on his lips, which she brushed away for him before straightening his crown. He wasn't nervous anymore, that kiss seemed to have grounded him. He was ready for that speech, ultrasound image or no, but luckily for him, Silvia power-walked to the front of the studio just as they were being put into places for the opening shot. She held the image close to her chest, facing her so that no one could see what she had. She slipped it delicately into Maxon's hands and then curtseyed before clearing off the stage. He grinned at America, standing up to slip it into his right front pocket and mouthing 'lucky charm' to her as he tapped it, then he sat back down in his throne-like chair next to her and smiled.

Maxon was flawless on the _Report_ that night. Gavril'd had a heavy hand in selecting the audience that would be in-studio for the broadcast, so that Maxon was interrupted in his announcement no less than five times by wild, enthusiastic applause.

It was decided that, in the final few moments of the broadcast, when Maxon's speech was finished, America would be permitted to come forward and embrace him for a very quick moment. Not a long, lingering hug, that would have been wildly inappropriate. Just a quick embrace, and then she'd take a full step away and accept the arm he offered her. This was supposed to convey a surge of affection between the couple, almost as if they were tightly bonded over the secret of a royal pregnancy. America had laughed outright, as Gavril and Silvia explained that reasoning.

However, Maxon took the embrace one step farther, in his relief and joy over how well his speech had gone. When America came forward to embrace him, he left a hand lingering on her hip, and as she stepped away, he let that hand brush her lower-stomach, leaving it there for a fraction of a second longer than necessary, and then finally offering her that arm. America was wearing a loose-fitting black dress with a sheer black train attached to the back at her shoulders, it was supposed to convey seriousness _and_ add logs to the baby-rumor fire. That infinitesimal touch to her belly whilst she was wearing that dress would _certainly_ have done the trick.

Once the cameras were off and the studio audience was cleared out, Gavril and Silvia came forward, Gavril with an enthusiastic smile covering his face. "Very well-done, your Majesty. What a way to launch your new initiative."

"Thank you, Gavril. That was a brilliant introduction, as usual." Maxon smiled.

"I especially enjoyed the bit of improvised physicality with the Queen, at the end." Gavril winked.

"Oh, good. For a moment, I thought I'd gone too far." Maxon grinned, relieved.

"Not at all." Gavril assured him. "It was a touch of brilliance... pardon the pun."

"I was discussing it with Gavril while the audience was clearing out." Silvia said, and even she sounded enthusiastic. "I'll bet that little touch was enough to send those baby rumors _international_. I expect to see headlines about a possible Illéan heir in all of the major international magazines by this weekend."

America tried to stifle a yawn and failed magnificently. Maxon stroked the exposed part of her upper-back and sent chills all down her spine with his touch. "Let's call it a night, shall we?" Maxon suggested. "Good work tonight, Gavril. Silvia."

"Thank you, your Majesty." Both advisers replied, with a tiny bow from Gavril and a tiny curtsey from Silvia.

America and Maxon watched them turn and walk across the enormous studio on their way to their offices, already strategizing excitedly for the next seven days.

"We need to keep an eye on those two." America said in a low voice to Maxon, wrapping her arm around her husband's waist.

"What? Silvia and Gavril?" Maxon asked, surprised.

"We'll see." America nodded, watching pointedly as Gavril swept the door open for Silvia and gave her an animated bow as she passed.

"Your mother will be heartbroken." Maxon chuckled, and America rolled her eyes and swatted playfully at his chest.

"Come on." She said, taking his hand and tugging at it. "I'm sleepy."

"I can see why you would be. Our exertions earlier left _me_ exhausted." Maxon teased in a quiet voice so that none of the crew cleaning up the studio could hear them.

America was about to scold him when the door to the studio swung wide open and Aspen came charging in. He was out of breath when he got to them, and began speaking even as he bowed. "The rebels have sent another transmission. It's... it's a bad one."

"Another hostage?" Maxon asked, in an extremely low voice. Aspen simply nodded. Maxon turned to America, "Go up to bed, I'll fill you in later." America cast him a scathing look that told him just what she thought of that suggestion. "Alright, fine." Maxon shook his head. "Damned stubborn woman..." he grumbled, but he took off in the direction of the security rooms, and Aspen and America followed quickly behind.

As they rounded the corner in the hallway, they found Gavril and Silvia standing tensely nearby, waiting. "Officer Leger told me not to go far." Gavril explained to America's questioning look, as he joined their entourage on the way upstairs. Silvia stayed behind, arms folded tight, anxiously watching them go.

When they got to Security Room A, Stavros and August were already there, along with several assistants. Everyone stood and bowed deeply as Maxon and America entered the room.

"Where are we?" Maxon asked Stavros, taking his seat at the head of the room facing a paused video displayed on a large screen. America took the seat right next to him, Gavril landed next to her, and Aspen sat at the end, looking grave.

"This transmission was received at the end of your broadcast tonight." Stavros explained. "It was entitled 'Too Little, Too Late'. Your Majesty," Stavros turned to America, "In my official capacity, I must advise you not to watch this video."

America was taken aback at being called out like this. "What? Why?" America narrowed her eyes in suspicion, "Because I'm a woman?"

Stavros tilted his head to the side and shook it, clearly telling her that she should know better than to think that way about him by now. "Because this video is extremely disturbing, and it is in the best interests of all of the King's advisers that you continue to rest undisturbed at night, whilst you are pregnant." That was sort of like kind concern for her wellbeing. At least, it was as close as the advisers ever got to being officially concerned for her wellbeing.

America wondered, for a heart-stopping moment, how bad the video could possibly be to warrant this warning. She turned to Maxon, and his eyes were all concern and no commands. He was letting her decide.

"I'm staying." America said, turning back to Stavros. "I need to know what my people are up against."

"Very well then." Stavros sighed, with a nod. "Your Majesties, this transmission did not come with any demands. We presume this means they still want the money they asked for last time."

"Play the video, Stavros." Maxon said, and Stavros nodded, reluctantly agreeing. He hit a button and the video began.

The room in the video was dark, probably another basement. There was a woman with short, light blonde hair, and she had a gag in her mouth, just like the man on the last video. She appeared to be kneeling, too, probably with her hands bound behind her back, though the image was too tight on her face to show her arms. The only light in the room was bright on her face, so that she could be clearly seen. For a few seconds, she just knelt there, bright blue eyes blinking widely into the lens. They could hear her breath, shuddering and anxious, and that was the only sound.

Then, in the background, there was a click. Suddenly, a new sound joined her breathing. Maxon's voice. It was the speech he'd just finished giving on the _Report_. It was hard to make out every word, but America could tell this was somewhere near the middle of the speech. There was an applause break as the studio audience cheered for something Maxon had just said.

The woman's face and hair now had a shadow of blue light on them, a reflection of the television light, the only other light in the room.

For five or ten seconds, nothing happened. Maxon's speech played in the background, and the woman blinked staring at them through the camera lens. Then a voice from off-camera said, "Good evening, your _Majesty_." The voice was deep and quietly amused, it also carried the lilt that America associated with the southern provinces. Perhaps he was from Midston or Sota. He had an accent kind of like Adele's, he could even have been from Honduragua.

The voice continued, "I suppose you believe me _ungrateful. _After all, tonight you announced plans to 'rebuild the South'. You probably think we should go home now. Enjoy our clean air and fresh water, and move on with our lives. Forgive and forget, perhaps? Forget our dead, gone before their time, killed unnecessarily by the monarchy's brutal policies?" The voice lowered, a dangerous edge to its words, "The babies who will never be born, the children who died in our arms from sicknesses you simply do not have in the North? We do not forgive you, your _Majesty_, and we do not forget. The South remembers, and we will have our justice."

"Justice, you are thinking?" the voice mocked an interrogatory tone. It found the thought of Maxon asking these questions amusing. "How can there be justice for such genocide? Surely the horrors you have known are beyond such retribution?" America turned to look at Maxon, nervously. His sentence structure and use of words like 'genocide' and 'retribution' indicated that this man, whoever he was, was very well-educated, indeed. Such an education would not have been available to anyone below a Three. Who was this man?

The voice returned to seriousness and America's eyes were drawn, like magnets, to the screen again, to the terrified woman blinking her bright blue eyes at them. "I'm glad you asked, your _Majesty_." the voice continued. Every time it said the word 'Majesty' it seemed to be mocking Maxon. "We have come to believe that the only way forward to true justice for your crimes against the South, is to hurt you. As badly as you have hurt us. There is no amount of time we could put you in prison that would lead you to feel the pain we have felt. We've lost our wives, our husbands, we've lost our babies, and our brothers and our sisters. There is no initiative you could ever enact that would heal those hurts. But if we come North and we poison your food and your water and your air, if we murder your husbands and wives and babies, then you will know our suffering. You will know what your policies cost us. That is as close to justice as we will get in this lifetime, don't you think?"

America's eyes now dashed to Stavros' grim face. It wasn't possible, this threat. They couldn't poison the food and water supplies, could they? Where would they get the resources? It wouldn't just be expensive, it would be scientifically impossible. Poisons to poison all of the air in the North? Such weapons were lost after the Fourth World War. Still, the look on Stavros' face was not reassuring.

"So this is where we're starting." the voice said, simply. "Right here. This woman is absolutely lovely, the perfect place to start, really. See those blue eyes, your _Majesty_? We chose them just for you. We know you have an affinity for blue eyes."

Maxon shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his brow furrowing. America couldn't stop herself from shuddering. The rebels had chosen this woman because both she and America had the same shade of bright blue eyes. That's why the camera was so close to that woman's face. The rebels wanted to make sure Maxon got a good look at those eyes.

"Her name," the voice continued, "Is Anne. We like that name, we have a history with taking Annes from you." In the long silence that followed this pronouncement, a strangled sob escaped America's mouth. Anne had been in the wrong place at the wrong time during _the _rebel attack, that's what America had been told. Anne had never been on camera during the Selection, so even if the rebels had known her name and known what she meant to America, how could they have found her? How could they have targeted her?

The voice didn't let her puzzle on this for too long, it had other things to say. "Anne is a Three from Kent. She has two adorable children, a boy and a girl. Four year old twins, Jonah and Welsley. Jo-Jo and Wels." For the first time in the video, tears leaked from the woman's eyes. Her head sank down and her shoulders shook, hard.

"Her husband, Henry, hasn't slept a full night since she went missing. He's looking everywhere for her. People are telling him that she ran off, but he knows better. Anne and Henry adore one another. They're madly in love. She'd never run off on him, would you, Anne?" Anne shook her head but could not lift her face. She was crying too hard. "Don't worry, sweet Annie." The voice said, softly. This part wasn't for the camera, and America listened, but she could not detect a trace of mocking or sarcasm. "He'll know what happened to you, we'll give him your letter."

The face peeked up. Tears were falling fast now, but something about knowing that her husband wouldn't be left wondering about her had given her strength.

"Now, King Maxon, to business. Anne is a faithful subject, and she vocally supported the Queen during the Selection. She has been nothing but exemplary, and you have let this happen to her. You had the chance to free every single one of our hostages, we asked you for a reasonable sum. It's no more than you collect from the South in taxes every year. Yet you refused. We've had this woman for two weeks, plenty of time for you to mount a rescue operation. Were you simply too busy to be bothered? You always seemed to care for your Northern citizens. I have to admit, I am a little bit surprised. Perhaps we don't know you as well as we think we do?"

The camera moved, jarring the image on the screen up and down until it was repositioned about a foot farther away. More of the woman's body was in frame now, and her clothes were dirty but not tattered. This seemed to indicate that it was true, she had only been taken two weeks ago, if she'd been with them much longer her clothes would show more wear than that. If the timeline given by the rebel in the video was true, it made it much more likely that everything else he'd said was true. The woman's name was more likely to actually be Anne, and she was more likely to be a Three and have a husband and children missing her.

"In any event," the voice sighed, almost bored, "You have not given into our simple demands, and so the time has come to claim another Northerner." Anne's face fell again, her whole body shaking. "Anne, look into the camera." The voice said patiently. Anne couldn't do it. "Anne, you know we know where your family is. Are we giving them the letter, or are we paying them a _different _kind of visit?" The voice was so kind, even the threat was mild. Not at all like he was threatening to murder her babies, but more like he was a parent threatening her with no dessert.

Anne's face tilted up.

"That's it." The voice said. "Blink those bright blue eyes for me. Nice and wide." Anne complied. "Good girl. Now then, I'm going to say the names of your children one more time. Every parent deserves to hear their child's name spoken aloud one last time. And then, I want you to listen to the voice of your King. The King who utterly failed to save you." There was a pause. "Jonah." The voice recited, clearly. Anne closed her eyes again, sobbing. "Welsley." The voice said, and Anne shuddered.

There was a long pause. Uncomfortably long. The only sounds were Anne crying and Maxon's muffled voice in the background, broken up by intermittent applause.

A shadow fell over Anne's face, blocking out just the blue light from the television. Someone was standing between her at the screen. Her eyes were closed but her shaking had stopped. There was a swell of applause from the television, and America realized, her own blue eyes widening, that Maxon's speech was over. She was probably on her way down from the throne-like chairs on the side to give Maxon his hug. He was going to leave a hand lingering a little too long on her belly. Anne seemed to realize the speech was over, too, and her eyes flickered open, wide and beautiful, but only for a moment.

The gunshot in the video was louder than anything America had ever heard. It echoed in her ears over and over creating a dull roar. The video ended a millisecond after the shot, but not soon enough to stop America from seeing what had happened.

It was Celeste. It was Celeste all over again. America closed her eyes shut tightly, knowing in her mind that she'd just seen video of a new murder, but all that she could see behind her eyelids was Celeste. Celeste, shot in the back of the head. Celeste dying, over and over and over again, right before her eyes.

America leapt up from her chair and ran to the back of the room. There was a small bathroom used during longer meetings. She did not have time to turn on the light or close the door before the bile in the back of her throat became full-out vomit.

"Damn it—" she finally heard a sound other than the deafening roar of gunshots echoing in her ears, and it was Maxon's angry voice. He was in the middle of yelling something down the hallway.

America was busy trying to keep her hair out of her face and Amberly's crown from falling off her head and into the porcelain bowl full of throw-up, so she did not notice Mary's presence immediately. It took her a moment to fully feel the warm hand rubbing her back and the gentle, insistent tugging on the crown being held on America's head by one of her hands.

"Mary?" America managed, surprised.

"Just a moment, your Majesty." Mary unsnapped the train of sheer fabric that had been attached to America's shoulders, adding to her especially regal appearance tonight, and used that fabric to delicately wrap up the crown, and then she disappeared from the bathroom. A few seconds later, she reappeared, crown gone from her hands, and closed the door behind her. She dug in the pockets of her black dress and found a handful of hairpins. She took America's hair while America was still vomiting, and began pinning it up into a simple bun. When she was done, she knelt next to America and returned to gently rubbing her back.

"What are you doing here?" America finally asked, when the nausea passed.

"Silvia caught me on my way to your room. She was worried that you'd be in a security meeting all night, she asked me to bring you a cup of tea."

America blinked, surprised. "Silvia sent me a cup of tea? She's really going soft."

Mary nodded. "That tea is waiting for you, when you're ready."

"Got any—" But America didn't even have to finish her request. Mary reached again into her pocket and this time retrieved two individually wrapped peppermints. "Thanks, Mary." There were no words adequate to express America's gratitude for Mary, who had never failed America. America would be utterly lost without this woman supplying her with peppermints and tea and helping scrape her up off the floor in the middle of a security briefing. Mary seemed to understand, though, and pressed a kiss to the top of America's head before flushing the toilet and walking her out of the bathroom. There was a silver tray resting on a small wooden table beneath a large, ornate mirror at the back of the room. On it, one of America's favorite teapots and a matching teacup, as well as the wrapped up crown. At the front of the room, the men were conversing in extremely serious tones, rewinding the video and pausing it at certain frames to discuss.

"Mary," America said in a hushed tone as Mary poured the tea. "Take that crown to my room, it can stay there overnight, I don't want you doing the paperwork to return it to the vault tonight. Instead, please bring a large tray of coffee and a few light snacks for the boys. We're going to be here for a while."

"Yes, your Majesty." Mary gave a little curtsey.

"And Mary?"

"Yes, your Majesty?"

America closed her eyes and watched Celeste being shot a few more times, thinking back to the video she'd just seen and the woman named Anne who had the same colored eyes as America. "I could really use some chocolate." Nothing would calm her frayed nerves like some chocolate right about now. The baby seemed to practically demand it.

Mary clasped America's hands and for the first time noticed that America was trembling. America noticed it, too. "Yes, ma'am. I'll leave this tray for you, alright?"

"Perfect, thank you, I'll drink it all."

"Is there anything else that I can get you?"

America opened her mouth, expecting to be able to think of something else that needed to be done, but her mind failed. She was on overload. Maxon's raised voice at the front of the room brought her back to reality. "Just stay close, Mary."

"Of course." Mary curtseyed and picked up Amberly's crown, then rushed away from the room. America clutched her teacup in both hands and rejoined the men at the front.

Aspen had a large map of the Northern Provinces on the conference desk, full of highlighted regions and X's and circles. The highlights, X's, and circles were the fruits of Aspen, August, and the British contingency's labors. The highlighted regions were most likely to contain hostages, the circles were facilities and residences with basements, the X's were places they'd checked and come up empty on.

Maxon looked over at America for a moment, and then pushed a chair up behind her. An unspoken command. Sit. America obeyed, mostly because she was feeling faint, but also because her husband had more than enough obstinance on his hands with the rebels. He gave her a pat on the shoulder to demonstrate his gratefulness.

America stayed there with the men until well after three in the morning, taking phone calls from field agents reporting, and discussing the costs and efficacy of new strategies being brainstormed by Aspen, August, or Maxon. Everything was more expensive than just giving the rebels the money they were asking for, but giving in to these demands was not an option on the table.

At around 3:30 in the morning, America's head started bobbing onto Maxon's shoulder as Stavros talked through a scenario with Aspen involving raids on likely rebel camps. She could hardly keep her eyes open.

"Go to bed." Maxon said softly into her ear, and America sat upright, forcing her eyes wide open.

"No." she realized that every eye in the room was on her. "I'm fine."

"Mer." Aspen shook his head. "You need your rest, come on."

"I want to help."

"You'll be more useful in the meetings tomorrow if you've had a good night's sleep, your Majesty." Stavros insisted.

"I don't want to have to spend three hours getting caught up."

"I'll send for you if anything changes." Maxon promised. "Go to bed. Take Mary with you? I want someone with you tonight."

There was a thought. Mary was still sitting in the hallway outside, occasionally being summoned to retrieve something from their offices. If America went to bed now, Mary would finally be able to get some sleep, too. Maxon seemed to notice the weakness in her resolve and he pounced on it, "Do it for our baby, Ames."

America sighed, heavily, which lead to a wide yawn. There was nothing she wouldn't do for this baby, even leave a security briefing so that she could go and get some sleep. "Alright." America stood, and the others in the room bowed to her. Maxon kissed her forehead and she traced his cheekbone with her thumb. "If you furrow your brow too much, it'll get stuck that way." America teased. The corners of Maxon's mouth raised just a little, and she stepped away. As she walked, she let her hand fall down to his chest and then trace along his arm until their fingers caught. She lingered there, holding his outstretched hand for just a moment. She gave it a squeeze and then walked away. As she closed the door behind her, she heard the men return to business.

Mary looked like she was jerking awake from sleep as America appeared. Poor thing, Mary's days usually started at four o'clock in the morning, so she'd been awake for nearly twenty-four hours now. "We're going to bed, Mary." America said, offering her a hand up from the chair outside the door. "Are you alright staying with me tonight? Maxon's request."

"I'm happy to, your Majesty." Mary assured her in a tired, gravelly voice.

"I'll have Silvia cancel my morning. Maxon will want us getting at least eight hours of sleep."

"'Us' as in 'you and me', your Majesty? Or 'us' as in 'you and the baby'?"

"All three of us. You, me, and the baby." America clarified. "Although… I'll have to ask Dr. Ashlar. I'm not sure if the baby actually sleeps yet."

Stavros had been worried about America's ability to sleep after viewing the video, but Stavros had underestimated the all-consuming power of pregnancy-exhaustion. America was out almost as soon as her head hit the pillow, although for the brief time until she fell asleep, she kept seeing Celeste's shooting over and over in her mind. Those were also the final moments of Amberly's life, America realized as she yawned and turned her head, her forehead coming to rest against Mary's shoulder.

She dreamed of both Anne's that night, but only sporadically. Most of the night she did not dream. Occasionally, she'd see blonde haired Anne from the video, with her children and her husband, and then they were all shot to death, brutally, out of nowhere. A long time would pass with no dreams, and then she'd see her Anne, still in the crisp Palace uniform, knelt in that basement from the video, mouth gagged, eyes staring imploringly at America. And then the dream would fade. When America awoke, Mary was telling her that it was eleven o'clock, offering her a glass of orange juice and the anti-nausea pills, and informing her that Maxon was taking a nap in his rooms, but had requested to eat lunch with her in an hour. Would she like a bath?

That was the darnedest thing about mornings. After everything that had happened, after the death of yet another beloved Anne at the hands of the Southern rebels, after such a _long_, terrifying, brutal, horrific night; the sun rose. A new day started. And after everything the rebels claimed to have already lost at the hands of the Palace, they were about to lose a whole lot more.


	22. Chapter 22

After lunch, Maxon and America joined a freshly-showered Aspen in Security Room A. August had called in his wife for reinforcements at some point overnight, so now Georgia was there, too. Gavril had on a clean outfit, and the assistants from last night had been cycled out with a new batch of assistants for the day. They were all just waiting on Stavros, who was finishing a phone call in his office.

"Have you spoken with Lucy?" America asked, walking up to Aspen who was pouring himself a large mug of coffee from a coffee tray at the back of the room.

"Yeah. Mom's with her, and they're both alright."

"Good. I wish you could have made it home last night, I know how worried you are about her."

"Not worried." Aspen assured her. "More like… anxious. Generally, very anxious. She's a week overdue, you know? The midwife has been saying 'any day now' all month. It's more than 'any day now', at this point it's like 'any minute now'."

America smiled and rubbed his shoulder. "You need to train up Carter. That way you can have a second-in-command to leave in charge. Someone you trust to take these meetings for you so that you can get home to your wife and baby. Babies. I want lots of little Aspens and Lucys running around this palace."

"Is there room in the budget to promote Carter?" Aspen asked, curiously.

"We'll make room for it. Lucy _will_ have her knight-in-shining-armor at her disposal at all times, I won't compromise on that." America winked.

Aspen smiled down at her, gratefully. "That's such a load off my mind, Mer. You have no idea." He wrapped her in a tight, familiar hug and suddenly she was surrounded by the smell of him.

"Your Mom is still making that soap?" America sniffed deeply, her cheeks flushing with warmth. The smell of Aspen would always mean something incredibly specific and special to her. She'd been noticing over the past few days that her sense of smell had heightened. Marlee had assured her that this was normal pregnancy stuff, but it still seemed extraordinary to America. So now, here she was, the smell of Aspen so powerfully good that it was making her eyes water.

"Yeah. She sells it to a few families of Fours around town. She gives it away to a few Sixes, too."

America stopped just short of asking for some for herself. No matter how good this smell was, she couldn't, in good conscience, rub the scent of her ex-boyfriend all over her naked body every time she took a bath.

Almost as if he heard her thoughts, Maxon came up from behind them to get his own mug of coffee. "What's going on over here?"

"Aww." America grinned and leaned her head back from Aspen to look over at Maxon, bright eyed.

"What?" Maxon asked, amused.

"You actually _ask_ now." America teased. "Now, when you catch me in Aspen's arms, you actually ask me what I'm doing instead of just running off and trying to marry the first woman you find."

Maxon laughed when he realized what she was on about, tossing his head back and letting his shoulders shake with mirth. "Well, Kriss was busy today."

"Mer was suggesting I bump Carter up. Let him take some of these meetings for me so that I can make it home a little more often. For Lucy and the baby."

"That's a great idea." Maxon nodded approvingly between Aspen and America. "I wish we'd thought of it sooner. You'd need to train someone new for our personal guard, though."

"I've got a few candidates in mind." Aspen assured him.

"Great. You should move forward with that then. Immediately. Let us know how we can help."

"I will." Aspen smiled.

"And get your hands off of my wife, Commander Leger." Maxon officially ordered, and Aspen dropped America like a hot skillet, coming to attention and saluting Maxon at once.

America rolled her eyes and turned to her husband, who was hiding a smirk in his coffee mug. "Was that _really_ necessary?"

"Just a reminder that I got the girl in the end. And that I'm the King."

America shook her head and followed him over to the meeting table, "Yes, because when in history have beautiful blonde princes _ever_ managed to 'get the girl' from poverty-stricken disadvantaged soap-makers sons? You _really_ beat the odds on that one, Max."

Maxon laughed and rewarded her sarcasm with a quick kiss.

"By the way," America said, licking the bitter taste of Maxon's coffee off of her lips, "Can we talk about that phrase, 'get the girl'? You can't 'get' me, I'm not some object on a shelf. I'm a person who _chose_ you—" but she was interrupted by Maxon's lips. "Stop it!" She complained. "I'm making a point."

"Your point is well taken." Maxon smiled, reassuringly. "But you're not going to stop me from gloating. Hug your ex-boyfriend all you want, but you're _not_ going to stop me from gloating. Next time I promise to say something more diplomatic. How about 'I'm the winner and he's the loser'?"

America narrowed her eyes at him and shook her head, but she couldn't keep the endeared smile off of her face. "Do I look like a relay race to you?"

They could have gone on like that all afternoon, those little playful disagreements were their favorite version of flirting, but that's when Stavros walked in and the meeting was called to order. The mood in the room shifted as Stavros put a large picture of the woman, Anne, from last night's video up on the screen at the front of the room.

"I just got off of the most interesting phone call." Stavros announced as everyone took their seats. "One of our undercover agents in the field was contacted by an inside source. They're vetting her now." America looked over at Aspen, who simply shrugged. This development was so new, he hadn't heard about it yet. She looked over at August and Georgia but they didn't seem anymore in-the-know than Aspen. "If she is who she claims to be, she's the wife of a prominent southern rebel sympathizer, a Two from Midston. It turns out, this sympathizer might be doing more than simply channeling funds to the rebels."

"What does she know?" Aspen asked, getting to the heart of the matter.

"Not much. It's not really about what she knows, Commander Leger, but what she has. If everything checks out, and she is who she claims to be, she might be handing a map of hostage locations over to our agents as early as this afternoon."

America's heart leapt into her throat. They had a chance to free the hostages. This was the break they'd been waiting for.

"How long would it take to verify the locations?" Aspen asked.

August answered, "It depends on how far apart they are. We'll have to look at it when we get the map."

"From there," Stavros said, "We'll want to execute a simultaneous recovery mission. It will need to be like clockwork, we don't want any of them calling the other locations and warning them about the rescue."

Gavril spoke up, "That is the moment I would recommend going live on television and informing the people of the rebel threat. We'll have good news to tell, that the hostages have been recovered, and that will help color the public's reaction. The Queen could reiterate the need to stand up to these bullies, to fight back. They will rally behind her, they always have, we could actually spin this into a positive thing for the monarchy."

America nodded, "Absolutely. Gavril, you and I can draft the speech together."

August spoke up, "In the meantime, we should send scouts to check out the facilities we suspect the rebels are using as base camps. If any of them are active, we can order raids on them as soon as the hostages are clear."

America turned to Maxon, "Rain a few bombs down from the sky?" she offered, remembering his lamentation that they couldn't combat the rebels in the same way that they'd combatted the New Asians during the New Asian War.

"I like the sound of that." Maxon nodded. Then he looked up at the picture of Anne on the screen. "Have we secured her family?"

"Yes, your Majesty." Aspen said. "I got word late this morning. We have eyes on them, so if the letter mentioned in last night's video transmission is delivered by a rebel, we'll follow him back to base. And, if they attempt to attack the husband or children, we'll be there to keep them safe."

"Good." Maxon breathed. "I'd like to send them my condolences, let them know the steps we've taken to bring these rebels to justice, but I can't do that until we've actually taken the steps. So get to work." Maxon stood and the whole room jumped to their feet. America was the last one to join them. "I've got an infrastructure meeting, and the Queen has preparations for the Grateful Feast Parade. You're to keep us updated throughout the day, but you're not to call us in until we have a visual of this map."

There was a chorus of 'Yes, your Majesty's. Maxon paused, looking thoughtfully at Anne's picture. "I am highly sympathetic to the plight of the South… but you _cannot_ murder my citizens and expect to get away with it. Make no mistake about it, this is an act of _war_ against Illéa." Maxon sighed, heavily. "We are at war."

* * *

That should have been the thought that stayed with America all through the day and into the night. Maxon, her Maxon, who spent the whole of their first two years of marriage negotiating a tenuous peace to end the New Asian War, was _declaring_ a war. Maxon hated wars. Maxon liked cameras and soccer and chocolate cake. Maxon _hated_ wars.

And unfortunately, it was taking longer than expected to verify the informant's story, to prove this woman really was who she said she was, so they couldn't trust the map she was providing them with, yet. It could all be a trap. But it was just as well, because the best thing to do to cripple the rebels was to act all at once, freeing the hostages, bombing their camps, and announcing these actions to the public to put the citizens on guard. But coordinating this kind of military operation took time and money. America definitely should have spent some time worrying about that.

Not to mention, she probably should have worried about the auctions of her dresses that were scheduled to take place in all of the provinces this coming weekend, the proceeds of which would help keep the prenatal care clinics open for another couple of months. Or she could have worried about her polling numbers and the slow progress they were making for the amendment to the laws of inheritance. Or the enormous televised Grateful Feast Parade she was coordinating with Silvia and Gavril and a whole host of assistants, including Marlee. But for some reason, when she awoke with her heart racing in the middle of the night, it wasn't for rebels, or auctions, or amendments or parades.

"Maxon." America whispered, shaking his shoulder.

Maxon was finally getting real sleep after the debacle of the previous night. "What?" he murmured, annoyed.

"I know how… I think I know how to pay for the schools. For the public schools."

"America… I love you so much." Maxon yawned. "Please stop talking."

America laughed, and curled back up on his chest, but after the heart-wrenching couple of days they'd had, this little glimmer of goodness was just too exciting. It took her hours to fall back to sleep.

Maxon and America had a plan to eat breakfast in his room that morning, just to buy themselves an extra hour alone together, but America just couldn't wait for breakfast to be over to make her first call of the day. As soon as Mary arrived with the breakfast cart, successfully waking his Majesty, King Sleeping Beauty with the smell of bacon, America crawled over Maxon, reached into his nightstand drawer, and pulled out his secure mobile telephone.

"What are you doing?" Maxon mumbled, rubbing both hands through his bed-head. Mary was blushing furiously as she set up the breakfast cart and poured Maxon's coffee and America's orange juice. She always blushed adorably when she had to bring breakfast in for them, and they were still snuggled up in bed.

"It's morning. I'm making a call." America grinned.

"Using my highly secure private line? The one given to me so that I could give the go-ahead on official military operations and espionage missions?"

"Um, yes."

Maxon grinned and tugged her down so that she was laying on top of him, "You're cute." he kissed her good morning. "But you should go to your office to make that call."

"If I go to my office, I can't be in bed with you." America reasoned.

Maxon sighed and tucked her red hair behind her ear, looking over every feature of her face, memorizing her 'first thing in the morning' look. "Fine. No authorizing any drone airstrikes, okay?"

"I'm not making any promises." America giggled, and started dialing. Mary was trying to escape from the room unnoticed, but as the phone rang in America's ear, America laughed, "See you in an hour, Mary!"

Mary gave a quick little curtsey and left the room, shaking her head and blushing deeply the whole way.

"You shouldn't torture her like that." Maxon said, rolling over onto his stomach and watching America closely. "At least not until she's married."

"She's a slow mover, Maxon, she might take _forever_ to get married. I can't even remember the last time she went on a—" America heard a voice on the other end of the line.

"Hello?" it asked. Bright and cheerful already. Of course she was awake. Probably already dressed and sparkling, too. She really would have made a fantastic queen.

"Kriss! I had an idea. Like, a real, live breakthrough."

"Kriss?" Maxon asked, surprised. He crawled over and pressed his cheek to America's. "Good morning, Kriss!" he called loudly into the phone.

"Um… Good morning, Maxon." Kriss laughed.

"She says good morning, now get off of me." America pushed him to the side.

"America, this isn't your private office number." Kriss said. "Where are you calling me from? I've never seen this number."

"This is Maxon's top security spy phone." America said. "Anyway. I know how we're going to pay for the schools. At least for the first ten years."

"Okay, please tell me." Kriss sounded like she was smiling.

"We've been looking at this through a very particular prism." America said, watching Maxon pretend to be stung by her rejection.

He tugged the sheets off of her and said, "Fine. If you don't want to talk to me, I bet the baby will appreciate me."

"Shh, Maxon! I'm on my date with Kriss right now. It'll be your turn later." America joked, and Kriss laughed loudly in her ear.

"_America_." Kriss laughed. "Don't tease him about that. He didn't have a choice." but she didn't sound very worried about it.

Maxon wasn't worried, either. He'd pushed America's nightie up and was now alternately glaring at her and whispering secrets to her naval.

"Seriously, Kriss," America pretended, as she brushed a hand through Maxon's hair and relished the tickle of the golden strands against her palm. "I wish I'd proposed to you more and more each day."

"Wouldn't that have been a twist?" Kriss laughed.

"Next time we're all in the Selection together." America promised. "Anyway, like I was trying to say before my dumb husband interrupted me—" She got a poke to her ticklish spot for that and giggled loudly. "We've been looking at this problem through a very particular prism. We've been saying that we have to remove the provision for private schools in order to make these public schools work."

"Yeah, we need the money from the upper castes to help pay for the lower castes, and we want everyone in a regulated system to make sure that no one is receiving a lesser quality of education just because their school doesn't have as much money." Kriss said.

"Right, and it'll help eliminate caste prejudices to school all of the children together."

"And there's no way to pay for free meals for lower caste children without upper caste children buying their own lunches. We can't have a whole school on the free lunch system." Kriss said. "We can't _afford_ to let some children go to private schools."

"But what if we did, just at first?" America asked.

"I don't really see how that would help." Kriss said, confused.

"Maxon, no, tickles." America squirmed. He'd started pressing little kisses to her ribs, but at her complaint, he moved his lips back to the valley between the sides of her rib cage. "What if we allowed the upper castes to keep their private schools. They're independently funded, and with a little oversight to make sure they're following the same curriculum as the public schools, it would make the upper caste parents happy, and work for our purposes."

"I still don't see it. How do we pay for the public schools this way?" Kriss asked.

"We _tax_ tuition at private schools. You want to go to a private school? Fine. You're already paying tuition, you're just going to pay a little more. And in exchange, crime rates will plummet as kids are kept off the streets and kept from starving it out, they're educated to take on better jobs when they graduate instead of having to learn whatever it was that their parents knew. You wouldn't believe the statistics on pickpocketing as a survival trade taught from parents to children. There _has_ to be a way to sell this to the upper castes. They get to keep their precious private schools and tutors! And they get to wait a little longer before their kids have to mix with lower caste children. What do you think?"

Kriss didn't speak for a few seconds. She was absorbing the idea, trying to poke holes in it to make sure it was sturdy. America heard Maxon, in the silence, whisper to her bellybutton, "Mommy is a genius."

"America…" Kriss finally said, "That's a _brilliant_ idea. Seriously."

"Really?" America asked, too excited to breathe.

"Yes! I mean, it won't pay for everything, we'll have to get out the spreadsheets and have a look."

"Oh my God, Kriss, we could do this!" America propped herself up on her elbow so that she was leaning up.

"What if we added in a little requirement, a certain number of spots that private schools need to reserve for scholarship children? There'd be a little caste mixing, but not quite the shock of total integration."

"We could try it. Pilot it for a few years, see if it helps or hurts." America nodded. "In the mean time, kids who never would have managed to afford a private school would be getting a private school education. That sounds good to me."

"When can I come over to the Palace?" Kriss asked.

"Tomorrow. I'm booked today, but tomorrow's a Saturday and my schedule's a little lighter. It should be easier for me to get in and see some advisers to get their thoughts on it, too."

"Perfect." Kriss said, ecstatically. "I'm meeting George for brunch, I'll talk it through with him, see if he has any suggestions."

"Bring him tomorrow!" America demanded, fighting back a giggle as Maxon began nuzzling her stomach softly.

"We'll see. He's busy."

"Too busy for the Palace?" America asked, skeptically.

"You know he gets intimidated by Maxon. My ex-boyfriend is the King, what do you expect?"

"Alright, don't push him. But he's always welcome here, make sure he knows that."

"I will."

"See you tomorrow?"

"See you tomorrow. Good job, America." Kriss said.

"Bye."

"Bye."

America sighed happily and pushed the button on the phone to end the call. Then she handed it to Maxon, who tossed it haphazardly on the bed and went back to drawing secret messages on her belly for the baby to decode. The phone was immediately lost in blankets.

"Okay." America said. "I hate to interrupt father/baby bonding time, but I need you to eat that bacon now. The smell is killing me."

Maxon sighed and pushed his body forward to move his mouth within kissing range of her lips. "Fine. I will perform my fatherly duty and eat all the bacon."

"Thank you." America smiled and rewarded him with the kiss he'd been hoping for. He rolled off the bed and moved over to the tray.

"Juice in bed, my queen?"

"Yes, please." America said, happily.

"That really is a good idea, America. The tax."

"Well, you know what it means, don't you?" America said, accepting her large glass of orange juice and taking a gulp from it.

Maxon watched this gulp, amused, and then said, "What does it mean? You're educating my citizenry, which is the first step towards truly democratic elections?"

"Yeah. But what it means for tomorrow is that I need a meeting with Jepsen."

Maxon winced. "Oh."

"I want to hear what he thinks of the tax."

"I don't know, Ames…"

"I won't be mean to him anymore, I swear!" America grinned into her juice and took another long drink.

Maxon sighed and chewed through a piece of bacon, thoughtfully. "Alright. You're right, you need to meet with Jepsen about this. But I want to be at that meeting, too."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive. Just in case things get out of control again—"

"Oh, Maxon, come on. We're both adults who respect each other professionally—"

"He didn't sound particularly respectful at that meeting." Maxon frowned.

"Fine. If it will make you feel better, I won't fight you on this. Come to my meeting with Jepsen. It'll be one less thing for you to worry about." America reasoned.

"Thank you, Love. French toast?" Maxon offered, gesturing to a plate on their cart.

"Um… start me off with something light. That orange looks good."

Maxon choked on a laugh, "So breakfast this morning… is orange juice and an orange?"

"You know what?" America laughed. "Next time, _you_ have the baby. Then _you_ can deal with heavy breakfasts on a pregnant stomach."

Maxon eyed her suspiciously, "What pregnant stomach? I think you've somehow _lost_ weight since becoming pregnant."

America just glared at him and nursed her juice until he gently tossed her the orange and practically started a food fight by hitting her on the side of the head with it.

* * *

America practiced what she was going to say to Jepsen several times in the mirror before the meeting. She had a calm, rational, level-headed approach that might even mend some fences after the debacle at the War Council meeting.

When Maxon sent a note over to schedule the appointment, the response from Jepsen was quick and succinct. He wrote that he was glad they'd contacted him, he'd been meaning to schedule an appointment with them all week. He had some business that they needed to discuss.

"He can't take anything else from my clinics." America had shrugged. "Maybe he's gunning for the Southern Cleanup Initiative again?"

"Don't even joke about that." Maxon had frowned grimly, but it hadn't really been a joke.

When Jepsen walked into Maxon's office on Saturday morning, he wasn't alone. Maxon's public opinion adviser, Renken, was with him. So whatever Jepsen wanted to discuss with them, it probably had something to do with the amendment. Suddenly, America wished Stavros was with them, instead of spending the day with his grandchildren, if only to give a slight vocal majority to the pro-amendment sentiment.

"Your Majesties," Renken bowed deeply. "Are you well today?"

"Very well, thank you." America said, trying to play the cheerful hostess, but it was clear that she was on edge.

"You had your weekly checkup with Dr. Ashlar yesterday, didn't you, your Majesty?" Renken asked, with polite interest.

"Yes, you'll be happy to hear that your future monarch is healthy and strong, and we'll be hearing a heartbeat next week." America said, pouring glasses of water for their guests. The men were now waiting for her to take her seat so that they could sit at the opposing settees. Maxon received his glass last and thanked her with a quick kiss on the cheek. He could see how nervous she was, and ordinarily he wouldn't have broken protocol like that, but he was trying to set her at ease. America gave him a grateful look in response, and then sat.

"Your Majesties had a matter to discuss with me?" Jepsen asked, politely, after a long drink from his glass.

"Yes, but we're very curious to hear the matter that _you_ had to discuss with _us_." Maxon said, with perfect composure. It would have been hard for Jepsen to guess that what Maxon really meant was that they were anxiously _dreading_ hearing the matter he had to discuss with them.

"Of course, your Majesty." Jepsen nodded, and dug out his paperwork. "On the matter of your Majesties agendas for the next three months, as submitted by your offices for review on Monday, I have been working closely with Renken to correctly appropriate funds towards items that will most improve your polling numbers, and alert you to items on your agendas that will have a negative impact on your polling."

Maxon blinked. Even he was taking a moment to absorb the official, formal language Jepsen was speaking in. "We... appreciate your diligence." Maxon said.

Jepsen accepted this response and continued, "After announcing your Southern Cleanup Initiative on the _Report_, the combined polling numbers of yourself and the Queen improved by three points."

"That's very good news." Maxon said.

"We're expecting the televising of the Grateful Feast Parade to further improve the score by one or two points." Jepsen said. "And, of course, the announcement of the royal baby will bring big boosts. However, in an effort to speed along the advancements that your Majesties are making, I would like to suggest cutting certain, less popular programs from your schedule for a time. This will free up funds for other, more popular programs."

"Including my prenatal clinics?" America couldn't stop herself from spouting.

"Perhaps, your Majesty, or perhaps to his Majesty's food program or to local security measures that would help keep your citizens safe from rebel threats and crime." Jepsen said, tersely.

"I see." America allowed. So he had no intention of using this money to help her initiative. Seriously, what was Jepsen's problem with babies?

But Maxon, as usual, had caught on to the real threat in Jepsen's words, "Which less popular programs did you have in mind, Jepsen?"

"Your Majesty has, on the schedule for the next three months, an international summit for your allies."

"Yes, the Queen and I have been working to put that together for several months now."

"It would be better, your Majesty, not to host an international summit this year."

America and Maxon shared a quick look in which a lot of things were communicated. Mostly Maxon telling America to stay calm and quiet.

Maxon turned back to Jepsen, "Is this what your research indicates, Mr. Renken?"

"It does, sir." Renken said, apologetically. America was letting this one soak in slowly. Her heart was in her stomach, and a heavy frown sat on her face. In addition to all of the work she and Silvia had put into planning this summit, it was also supposed to be the official excuse for Nicoletta to come over and spend some time doting on her future godchild. Renken was still talking, "The people of Illéa are looking inward right now, wanting to rebuild the nation before focusing outward on accommodating other nations."

Maxon sighed, heavily. "They want me to give them my full attention?"

"Consider it practice for when you become a father, sir." Renken smiled, weakly, sympathy all over his face.

Maxon turned to America, knowing exactly what she was thinking, and leaned in, "There's no reason Nicoletta still can't come and visit for a couple of weeks, my love."

"No, I suppose not." America sighed. "I was... I was going to make inroads with the Chancellor of the German Federation, Maxon. She's a mother, too, I was going to ask her for quirky German advice."

Maxon smiled at her, "Perhaps for our next one?"

This consoled America somewhat, and seeing this, Maxon returned his attention to Jepsen and Renken, "Where would the money from the summit go?"

"Infrastructure, sir, an extremely popular initiative." Jepsen said, simply.

Maxon considered this. "I can't say that it's a bad idea. Our roads need attention, we've got bridges in states of dangerous disrepair in some parts of the country. And if the people want my attention on nation building here, in Illéa, how better to give them what they want than by literally building up Illéa's infrastructure?"

"Our sentiments exactly, sir." Jepsen said.

"Very well. The summit can be postponed for a year, barring international crisis."

"Of course, sir." Jepsen nodded.

"What's next?" Maxon asked.

"The Queen's agenda to move forward with an open-floor debate on overhauling the public school system." Jepsen said, matter-of-factly.

America blinked. _No way_. It wasn't possible. He wasn't going to tell her that she couldn't have the schools on the _day after_ she _finally_ figured out how to pay for them. There was just no possible way. "What about it?" America asked, tensely.

"Our polling indicates that enormous inroads could be made amongst Twos and Threes if the discussion of integrating their children with lower castes, at a public school which they would be forced to pay for, was tabled for five years."

"Five years?" America asked, dangerously. "_Five_ years? Maxon's summit-"

"America." Maxon said, softly, shaking his head.

Jepsen pressed on, "You need the support of Twos and Threes, it's the only way you'll be able to institute your amendment, your Majesty."

"_The_ amendment, Jepsen, and _we_ are instituting it." America practically spat.

"Okay, we need some time-" Maxon began, sensing the danger ahead.

"No, we don't." America snapped. "This is possibly the most vital program on either of our agendas. We have grown adults in this country who can barely write their names, Jepsen, how do you propose we invite them to vote in a democratic election for Mayors if they can't write the candidate's name, and can't read well enough to understand the policies of the person they are voting for?"

"Your Majesty, I understand what is at stake-"

"So we'll win Twos and Threes another way. Education stays." America said, firmly.

"I'm sorry, your Majesty, but _the_ amendment will not pass without the support of the upper castes, and this is the single biggest issue for them. They like the King, and they like you well enough, they love your sister, Lady May, and your brother, Mister Gerad. They're willing to support you on a personal level, but they will not abide your forcing their children to mix with-"

"Mix with what?" America asked, sharply. "Filthy Fives?"

Jepsen's cheeks burned at the prejudicial slur. "No, your Majesty. I was going to say, 'children of lower castes'."

Maxon sighed heavily, "You can't keep doing this to the Queen, Jepsen. She does important work in this country."

"Of course she does, sir." Jepsen nodded. "My suggestions are in no way personal. I understand the difficulty, but the truth is that we are attempting to do a very difficult thing, in safely enacting this amendment without accidentally initiating a coup. It is a tough task, and it demands tough choices be made. The amendment, or public schools. You may have them both in time; you may not have them both immediately."

"So I have to choose between my child, and all of the other children in Illéa?" America clarified, stunned.

"I'm sorry, your Majesty. I wish I could change the numbers for you." Jepsen said. "But numbers are impartial and immutable."

America did not so much as blink. Maxon took a long drink of water and said, "Thank you, gentlemen. That's all."

"Your Majesty, what was it you wished to discuss?" Jepsen asked.

"The Queen had a brilliant idea for how to pay for the public schools you just forbade her from pursuing for the next five years, so we'll just go ahead and put a meeting on the books for five years from now to discuss it." Maxon said, sharply.

"I apologize, your Majesty." Jepsen said, noting Maxon's anger. "It's not me, sir. It's statistics. Numbers."

"Thank you for coming in on a weekend. I'll see you both on Monday." Maxon dismissed them, without the courtesy of standing to see them to the door. Jepsen and Renken looked at each other nervously, then stood and scurried out into the hall. Maxon's office doors closed loudly behind them.

"America-"

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Ames, I'm sorry-"

"I don't want to talk about it, Maxon." America said, firmly.

"I know it's supposed to be hard... doing great things is hard work... but it shouldn't be _this_ hard." Maxon sighed, sadly. "This isn't right."

"We have to wait five years, so we wait five years." America said, standing. "The citizens of Illéa have waited five _generations_ for these schools, what's five more years?"

"Love-"

"I don't want to talk about it, Maxon." America repeated, "I'm going to my office to get ready for Kriss."

"Do you need anything?"

"Send Jepsen to New Asia."

"On vacation?"

"No, start a war, and Jepsen is the only soldier, and send him to New Asia to die." America said, walking over to the doorway that separated their offices.

"Okay, then." Maxon said, gently. "I'll see you on the balcony tonight?"

America frowned heavily, nodded slightly, and then closed the door behind her.


	23. Chapter 23

Kriss was right on time and all aglow when she walked into America's office about a half an hour later. For the first thirty seconds, she didn't even notice America's heavy frown, that's how excited she was.

"George thinks it's brilliant! And you know that's something, coming from George Barner." Kriss grinned. "And if we slip the tax in at the start of the next fiscal year in October, we can stockpile a little bit of money to pay for upgrades to the buildings we choose… America?"

"You should sit, Kriss." America said. Kriss had been pacing the floor, practically floating on air as she'd been talking. America was stiff, frozen in her chair behind her desk. Her stomach felt like a heavy anchor, filled with dread. The only thing that could make this day worse, after losing public schools, was having to tell Kriss that they were losing public schools.

"What's wrong, America, are you alright?" Kriss asked, selfless concern all over her beautiful face.

"I…" America shook her head. She just couldn't make herself say it. She couldn't say that she was fine. She wasn't fine. "Sit down, Kriss, please."

"Okay." Kriss perched on the edge of the chair facing America's desk and said, apprehensively, "What's going on? Are you alright? Is Maxon alright?"

"I had a meeting with Maxon's economics adviser before you got here today." America began.

"Did he think it was brilliant? It _is_ brilliant, America." Kriss allowed a tiny smile to tug at her lips.

"He… he never heard the idea. It turns out, the push for public schools is costing the monarchy too much in the polls. I have to table it… for five years." The last part came out in a heavy sigh.

Kriss tilted her head to the side, certain she'd misheard. "I don't understand. Who cares what it's costing you in the polls? The polls don't matter. Illéa needs schools, we agreed on this—"

"It… it's not that simple. Twos and Threes don't like—"

"It doesn't matter what they like, America!" Kriss said, emphatically. "That's the benefit of Maxon being _King_. He can really change things, and you're the Queen, you change things, too—"

"We're still doing schools. This way, we have more time to find locations for school buildings and we can adequately train more teachers." For the last half an hour, before Kriss got there, America had been desperately sieving through the situation, cleaving to anything that looked remotely like a silver lining.

"But, America, _Five_ years?" Kriss said, aghast.

"I know, Kriss."

"We don't have five years to just sit around and wait." Kriss insisted.

"Well, maybe we can look at George's public library proposition and do that first—"

"Only if it'll keep you popular, though, is that it?" Kriss demanded, irritated. "God, America, you _never_ cared what people thought of you during the Selection. You broke rank to try to save Marlee, you got up on national television and proposed eliminating the castes, you gave that man your jewelry in the Convicting, in direct defiance of the King and tradition. And now here you are, cowering in your Palace, unable to live without the people's _approval_."

"It's not like that, Kriss, there are other things going on here—"

"Oh, I'm sure." Kriss shook her head, disgusted, "You're really leaving those kids out in the cold, uneducated, with no help, for _five_ years?"

"I… I'm sure we can figure out something else… the libraries, or educational childcare for children too young for school—"

"School? _What_ school?" Kriss demanded.

"There are existing options we can work with for now, Kriss, we can credit tutors who volunteer free hours with lower caste students-"

"That's not good enough!" Kriss snapped. "It won't even begin to address the problem and you know it!"

"There's nothing I can do, Kriss, we have to wait until the timing is right. We have no choice." America said, but she barely believed it.

"Wow." Kriss stood. "Well, I don't know which Twos and Threes you're trying to impress right now. But this Three is _not_ impressed. I can't believe you, America."

"It's not as simple as you're making it sound, Kriss!" America argued, cheeks flushing both from shame and anger, not that she was really angry at Kriss. She was angry at herself, and angry at Jepsen, and angry at the dumb people of Illéa for wanting to stay dumb. But Kriss was the one standing in front of her, yelling back at her. "There are things happening at the Palace that you couldn't possibly understand."

"'Couldn't possibly understand'?" Kriss asked, thoroughly insulted. "Why not, America? Because Maxon didn't choose me?"

"What? No, this has nothing to do with that—"

"It doesn't? Not even a little bit?" She asked, accusatorially. "Education was my philanthropic project, the one I worked very hard on while you were busy trying to get yourself thrown out of the Selection. But it didn't work, you stayed in the Selection, and Maxon chose you. So now you get to sit on _that_ side of the Queen's desk and tell me my project is delayed for five years, and that there's nothing I can do about it, and that I 'couldn't possibly understand'. And whatever it is that you've decided to do instead, that thing I couldn't possibly understand, _that__'__s_ what you're going to do now, because Maxon didn't choose me, he chose you, so that's the way it goes."

America shook her head, dumbfounded as Kriss gasped for breath after that tirade. "I don't understand why you're trying to make this about the Selection. This isn't about who's Queen and who isn't, this is about the fact that Maxon _needs_ the support of his people in order to do his job."

"Maxon also needs an _educated_ citizenry." Kriss challenged.

"Well, Maxon's just going to have to wait five years, he'll have to be patient."

"He's really alright with this? With you canceling schools to win some sort of perverted popularity contest where no one else is competing?"

"You have completely misunderstood the situation, Kriss."

"That's not surprising, I'm just a peasant with a peasant brain that couldn't possibly understand-"

"Oh, stop it!" America snapped. "You know that's not what I meant."

"No, America. I don't know what you mean at all. I thought I knew, but now... I have no idea what you stand for." America winced at Kriss' inversion of the word 'mean'.

"You're really not going to give me the benefit of the doubt, here, Kriss? After everything we've been through together, you can't trust me a little?"

"I don't know, America. Maybe you're right. Maybe I just _can__'__t_ understand."

"I'll explain it all later, I swear. It's about…" America sighed, frustrated by the bonds that the 'Classified Level 1' stamp covering her amendment put on her mouth. "Do you remember that thing that we talked about… that I had to consult with the Italians about? That very big thing?"

"What about it?" Kriss demanded, short tempered and barely listening anymore through her anger.

America did her best not to commit treason with the amount of information she revealed, "That's… that's what this is about. I'll be able to say more when it's over, we'll talk in January."

"In _January_? It's June, we'll talk in seven months?" Kriss asked, astounded. "Seriously? That's the best you can do?"

"Yes, Kriss, that is actually the best I can do." America snapped. "But thank you, the venom in your voice is _exactly_ what I needed today." she couldn't sit still anymore, she stood and started pacing behind her desk. "God, Kriss! You think I did all of this just to get you?! Like I called you yesterday and fed you that idea _just_ to trick you into coming here today so that I could rip the rug out from under you?"

"Just please tell me you traded schools for something other than popularity." Kriss said, softly shaking her head.

"Nope." America said, hands flying wildly through the air. "You got me. That's it. I just really, suddenly, after everything that you learned about me in the Selection, _now_ need the people to adore me, to fawn over me, to worship me up on my pedestal. You know, the one on _this_ side of the Queen's desk!"

Kriss frowned, not amused by America's rant, and grabbed her purse. "I'll talk to you later, America."

"Yeah." America slouched down into her chair and glared as Kriss stalked out of her office.

* * *

That night, Maxon found America curled up with her knees tucked to her chest, leaning against the wall in the corner of her room. He'd come looking for her after going out to the balcony and finding that she wasn't there, and then seeing a lamp on in her room.

"You're crying." he breathed, when he found her over there. He crossed the room quickly and knelt before her, "Ames." he whispered. He wanted her to talk.

She didn't know how to express the kind of pain she was in. It was a brand new feeling, she'd never hurt like this before. It had been haunting her all afternoon, ever since the shouting match with Kriss had ended, and the silence set in. "Is it worth it, Maxon?" she asked, her voice small and shaky.

He cupped both of her cheeks with his hands and brushed the hot tears away with his thumbs. "It is. I promise, it's worth it."

"We're sacrificing so much—"

"I know. This is an expensive amendment, isn't it? It's costing us a lot. You much more than me."

"Are you sure this is the right thing?" America asked, nervously meeting his eyes.

"Absolutely. There's no question in my mind." Maxon assured her, knowing that's what she needed to hear.

"It was just some dumb idea I had—"

"Don't ever say that." Maxon shook his head. "This is our brave and righteous cause, this is _not_ just some 'dumb idea' you had."

America hugged her knees even closer, her whole body trembling. "I chose our children. It was our children, or all of the other children in Illéa, and I chose ours."

"This is the way it has to be. You remember what Stavros said when he told us he'd back our amendment? He said that if we were ever going to be popular enough to pass it, it would be now. We can't afford to wait five years for the amendment, so that we can do schools first. That doesn't mean that we won't do schools, though."

"It's just… I don't know how to say… I've never…" America sniffled, trying to put words to the unfathomable ache in her chest. "For the first time in my life, I _know_ my dad would be disappointed in me. Tonight, I have to be glad he's dead, and that _kills_ me." She sobbed, trying to turn away, but Maxon's hands held her steady. He couldn't stand the shame on her face, and this was his way of making sure she kept her head held high. By keeping it there, himself. She took in a shuddering breath and said, "But I have to be glad he's dead, because if he was alive… he would be _so_ disappointed in me."

Maxon didn't get the chance to say anything, there was a knock at the door and Avery stepped inside, "Your Majesties," he spotted them on the floor together and looked discreetly away, "I apologize. There's an urgent phone call for her Majesty waiting in her office."

"Do you know who it is?" America asked, tugging down Maxon's hands from her face.

"Lena Leger, ma'am."

America got to her feet, still a little wobbly. "I have no idea…" Suddenly a terrible thought occurred to her. Was it Aspen? Was Aspen hurt? Aspen was spending the weekend at home, had something happened to him? America took off for her office at an all out sprint and Maxon followed behind at a steady jog. Silvia, thankfully, also had the weekend off, so she was spared witnessing this bout of un-royal-like behavior.

America tore into her office and raced to her phone, yanking it off of the receiver and gasping into it, "Lena?"

"Your Majesty, I'm sorry to disturb you."

"God, Lena, don't ever call me 'your Majesty'. I'm little America Singer to you."

She could hear Lena's smile through the phone, and was suddenly ten times calmer because of it, "I just like to call you 'your Majesty', it's fun to think of you as a 'Majesty', sweetheart."

"Lena, is everything okay? Is it Aspen? Is Aspen alright?"

"Aspen's been better. He's beside himself right now, honey, Lucy's been in labor all day—" and in the background, America heard a loud, agonizing scream as Lucy pushed her way through what must have been a devastating contraction.

"Lucy's having the baby!" America gasped, and Maxon's previously concerned face lit up with excitement.

"That's right." Lena said, now speaking a bit more hurriedly. "The midwife says the baby will be here in the next twenty minutes, which is a lifetime for poor Lucy, but—" there was another aching, gut-wrenching scream in the background and America winced, hand flying to cover her stomach out of instinct. "I should get back to them. But Aspen wanted me to call you and tell you to get over here, if you want to meet your godchild tonight."

"We're on our way, Lena!"

"Good. And he also said… what was it? Oh, yes. Bring Avery? If that means anything to you."

"Sure, he'll want Avery to protect us while we're out of the Palace."

"Right, I'm sure that's it then." There was another teeth clenched, tormented cry in the background. This one sounded weaker, maybe even a little bit frightened.

"Lena, tell Lucy that I'm on my way, that I love her so much, and to be brave and strong for that baby, okay? Tell her all of that."

"On your way, love her so, brave and strong. Got it."

"We'll see you in a few minutes, Grannie." America teased and Lena laughed before hanging up. For a moment, America and Maxon just stared at each other in a kind of elated shock. "Maxon, we have to go!" America said, excitedly.

"I'll call the car around." Maxon grabbed the phone, "Go get Mary, we'll bring her."

"I can't… she's not here. Today's her day off." America said, "I'm not sure how to reach her…"

"Then run upstairs and get my camera, the one with the 85 millimeter lens."

"The…" America stopped and turned to him, puzzled. She was still learning the difference between all of his camera gear. "The big one or the small one?"

"The medium one." Maxon grinned at her, as her face lit up with recognition.

America was again sprinting as she rushed upstairs to get the camera and update Avery. Realizing that there was a distinct possibility that Maxon might turn the camera in her hands on her at some point in the evening, America quickly wiped away the mascara marks on her cheeks from when she'd been crying earlier, and freshened up her lips and eyes as a shortcut to make herself look brighter and fresher, overall. Then Avery escorted her briskly down to the entrance where Maxon was waiting for them. Several other guards fell in line behind them as they walked, and would be following along in the car behind theirs, to help secure Aspen's house.

On the way over, Maxon kept an arm wrapped tight around America, whose knee was bouncing up and down with alarming rapidity.

"Are you okay, Ames?" Maxon laughed, placing a hand on her knee to still it.

"Lucy's having a baby right now, Maxon!" America exclaimed. "She could be literally giving birth right this second."

"It's amazing."

"Isn't she going to be the cutest little mommy?"

"Very cute." Maxon nodded, "But I can think of a cuter one." he leaned in to kiss her cheek.

"Do you think it's a boy or a girl? I hope everything's alright. She sounded like she was in _so_ much pain."

The rest of the ride over to Aspen and Lucy's house was much like this, America was wracked with frenetic nerves for the birth of her best friend's first baby, and maybe projecting some of her own nerves about giving birth onto the situation.

America was out the door before the chauffeur could come around to open it for her, and she knocked briskly on the front door of the house Maxon had given Aspen and Lucy as a wedding present. Maxon hardly had time to join her there before Kamber opened the door and squealed excitedly, "America! I mean… um, your Majesty—"

"Oh, don't do that to me, Kamber, not on a night like this!" America laughed, walking into the house.

"Hello." Maxon nodded, congenially but a little awkwardly. He'd only ever seen Kamber and Celia at Aspen and Lucy's wedding, but he already knew Kamber and Celia to be the only women in the whole country who dissolved into absurd giggles at the sight of him, rather than falling into deep curtseys. Therefore he'd had to learn, for the first time in his life, how to greet someone else instead of being first greeted by a bow or curtsey. Here, he was demonstrating his new and unrefined skills.

As expected, Kamber dissolved into a fit of giggles.

Celia was the next down the hall and America gave her a quick hug. Jemmy was waiting for her, too, looking more and more like a young Aspen every day. The hug from Jemmy was a little longer. And then, at last, America was led to the large, open bedroom where she found Aspen, Lucy, and a brand new baby she'd never seen before.

Aspen was bent over Lucy, who lay exhausted and still more than a little sweaty, in the bed. In her arms, there was a bundle of soft-looking homemade blankets, a little baby face poking out of them.

America felt like her whole body was swept up in an ocean wave as she steeled herself against a bout of dizziness, locking her knees to keep herself upright, reminding herself to that she was supposed to be breathing, and proclaiming, tears bursting from her eyes and pouring out in rivers, "Aspen! You're a daddy."

Aspen turned at the sound of her voice, his face split into a wide, glowing smile. "Mer! You made it!"

"Of course I made it, where did you think I would be?" the end of America's sentence was muffled in Aspen's shoulder as they embraced. America clung to him, one hand resting at the base of his neck and the other arm wrapped around his waist.

"I know how busy you and Maxon have been. I'm _so_ glad you're both here." Aspen said.

"You're a dad, you're a father, that's your baby, you're a daddy!" America mumbled quickly, trying to make herself believe it.

Aspen chuckled and squeezed her tightly to his chest. Then he gently lifted her about an inch off the ground, turned, and placed her delicately on the edge of the bed where Lucy lay. He pried America's hands off of him, and leant down so that their foreheads were touching. "Mer? Do you want to hold her?"

America blinked, her wide blue eyes meeting his green ones. "…Her?" she asked, sniffling.

"You have a goddaughter." Aspen announced, grinning.

America leaned back, shocked, looking over at Lucy for confirmation. Lucy giggled softly and nodded.

"Maxon, get your camera ready, buddy." Aspen laughed, reaching over and picking up the baby. Lucy wanted to sit up a little straighter to get a better view, so Aspen paused and leant her his other arm so that she could pull herself a little more upright in the bed. She winced as she settled back in, now sitting up, but she didn't appear to be in anything like the kind of pain she'd been in when Lena had called earlier.

Aspen sat between Lucy and America and Lucy leant forward and wrapped her arms around Aspen's free arm, clasping his hand between both of hers. "America Singer Schreave," Aspen said, looking from his baby's sleeping face, to America's adorable, wide, amazed gaze, "It is my absolute pleasure to introduce you to your goddaughter, America Grace Leger." he said, as he settled the baby into America's arms.

At first, America just blinked at the baby, awash in blankets, cradled in her arms. She hadn't held a baby this young since Gerad, and babies that young are overwhelming, not that it took much to overwhelm America these days, with her hormones being what they were. Still, the names sort of rang in her ears for a moment, jumbled in a heap, and she couldn't put them in the right order at first. But when she did, everyone knew, because she gave a sort of choked sob and looked up, "What?"

"It was Lucy's idea. When we talked about girl names, we kept coming back to you—"

"But you made me her godmother, and Maxon's her godfather. That's such an honor already."

"If it wasn't for you and Maxon, Lucy and I never would have met. _Maxon_ posted me outside _your_ door all during the Selection, and I got to see Lucy every single day. Without you and Maxon, our baby girl wouldn't even exist. We're thinking we'll call her Meri. Or maybe Gracie, we'll have to see what feels right. But we definitely want her to be 'America'."

Lucy spoke up, her voice hoarse and soft, but everyone in the room could hear her. "You're a great queen, your Majest… America. You are certainly going to go down in history as a strong, smart, brave, and truly good woman, leader, wife, and mother. We want no less for our daughter."

Next to America, the bed dipped, and Maxon sat down. He'd taken his pictures, and passed the camera off to Jemmy, who was exploring his new job as photographer with relish.

"Ames?" Maxon said, softly, placing a hand on the back of her neck, gently. "What do you think of little baby America?"

"I love her so much I can hardly breathe." America whispered.

Aspen and Lucy chuckled, sharing a knowing look. They were finding her overwhelmed state a little _too _amusing. America tore her eyes away from the sleeping baby to look up at them and joke, "Oh, just you wait! It's your turn next."

This only widened Lucy's smile, but Aspen's eyes reflected surprise. Suddenly, he was imagining what it would actually be like to hold America's baby in his arms for the first time. It was a sobering thought.

America pressed a soft kiss onto the baby's forehead and the baby wiggled her little face but did not awaken. America looked up at Maxon and said, "You've never seen one this size before, have you?"

"No." Maxon said. "I had no idea they came so small." The only other baby Maxon had ever held was Astra, and Astra had been almost four months old by the time Maxon had gotten his hands on her.

"Remember the neck?" America asked, beginning to shuffle the baby into his arms.

"Yes, I remember." Maxon promised, eagerly, but looked quite surprised when he realized that America had pulled away and now he was holding the baby girl all by himself.

America leant her chin on his shoulder and looked up at him, adoringly. "What do you think?"

"She's amazing." Maxon took a deep breath, in awe of the little life in his arms. He looked over at Aspen and Lucy, "Should I call her Meri? Or Gracie?"

"Either." Aspen grinned happily.

"Hello." Maxon cooed down at the sleeping baby before him. He lifted her up a little so that his lips were right next to her ear and he gave her a little kiss before whispering, "Hello, America. I'm your Uncle Maxon. I can't wait for you to come over to my house so that we can play. I have so much to teach you."

And that's when it hit America like a brick wall. Like a freight train. She felt like she'd been punched in the gut with the force of it.

It was a good thing baby Meri had Maxon to teach her, because she certainly wouldn't have any public schools for a while.

"Uh oh." Aspen's voice said. "Those… those don't look like happy tears this time, Mer."

"Oh, God, Ames." Maxon breathed, looking over at her. Then, at Aspen's and Lucy's questioning looks, he said, "We… we had a rough day at work."

"Not another video?" Aspen asked, alarmed.

"No, no, nothing like that." Maxon promised. Then he sighed heavily, "We had to... make a hard decision today. We had to give up on public schools for a while. We had to trade them for… that other project." he met Aspen's eyes and Aspen nodded, understandingly.

Suddenly, the only thing as bad as having her father be disappointed with her was staring her right in the face, blinking its green eyes at her, frowning. "Please," America gasped, "Please don't lecture me. I'm sorry, Aspen, I'm _so __sorry,_ I know I disappointed you—"

"Oh, no, Mer, slow down." Aspen insisted in a soothing tone, pulling a tissue from a box on the bedside table and offering it to her. After she blew her nose, he wrapped her in a tight hug. "I love you, America Schreave. And I'm _so _proud of you. Don't you ever, ever doubt that. I recognize that you are in a constant battle, living in that palace. If it's not New Asia, it's the rebels. If it's not the rebels, it's your own damn advisers at your own damn Council meetings. It's the Twos, it's the former Eights, it's the Northerners, it's the Southerners… Do you know what I want more than _anything_ else for you and Maxon? The one thing you'll never really have. A break. I can't make that happen for you, as much as I would love for you to be able to lay your sword down for just a minute, and rest. I can't give you that, that rest from the fight, but I can promise you that I will _always_ be in that fight with you. I will _always_ have your back, America. If you had to… to trade public schools, that's not your fault. That's the battle. That's the fight. But if I know you, you're already planning to get them back one way or another." He'd clearly done a lot of thinking about the poor way in which he'd reacted to the defunding of America's prenatal clinics, and had learned.

"Five years." America gurgled into Aspen's chest. "I don't have any choice. I have to wait five years."

Aspen shook his head, but he wasn't angry or outraged. He was recalculating, making a soldier's strategy. "Alright, then. Five years, and then we'll go after it again. We won't stop, we won't ever stop, not until we get them. Isn't that right?"

America nodded. "Yeah." she said, softly.

"Hey, Mer?" Aspen grinned.

"Huh?" America looked up to see what he found so funny.

"You know why she's 'America'." he nodded towards the baby girl in Maxon's arms. "Why are _you_ 'America'?"

America looked down at her little namesake, then down at her own hands. "Because I'm a fighter." America said, softly.

"That's _right_, you are." Aspen reminded her, proudly.

Suddenly she was able to see the bigger picture. The way that, in all likelihood, her dad would have seen things all along. Shalom Singer was always good at seeing the big picture, it's what helped him make such beautiful paintings. America, on the other hand, had a hard time making forests from trees, and that's why she was only just now seeing it.

She hadn't 'traded away' public schools that afternoon. She'd just had to move the pieces around on the game board, pull back on public schools to hit the throttle on the amendment. It was part and parcel to a strategy, a big picture strategy that would ultimately lead to funded clinics and public education and princesses inheriting thrones and an end to women being viewed as property to be traded. Jepsen had tried to tell her this in his own slimy way, and Maxon had been in the middle telling her, too, before they'd been interrupted by news of the Leger baby. Everyone had been able to see it but her.

Sometimes she just really needed the boy from the treehouse to remind her of exactly where she was and what she was doing here.

America smiled, tremulously. "Thanks, Aspen."


	24. Chapter 24

Maxon was in an intense military strategy meeting early Wednesday morning, planning the coordinated attack on the rebels. America remembered his smooth lips kissing her forehead on his way out the door well before dawn as she snuggled deeper into the warm, soft blankets. She'd offered to attend the meeting with him, but this was where he wanted her, tucked in her bed, sound asleep and dreaming soft dreams.

Mary was finishing America's makeup for the day when they heard Maxon make it back to the King's suite.

"He made it in time for breakfast." America said, brightly.

"Let's finish getting you ready as quickly as possible, then, so that you can spend a little more time with your husband." Mary smiled, vanishing deep into America's enormous closet.

America slipped off her nightie and slipped on some more appropriate daytime underwear, when Mary reappeared carrying a soft, yellow dress.

"…Ma'am?" Mary said, peering closely at America.

"What is it?"

"Well, I'm not sure… what do you think?" Mary asked, directing America to the mirror at her vanity, and turning her to the side.

America didn't understand until Mary gestured to America's stomach. Yesterday it had been a flat line from her chest to her hips. Today, there was a flat line from her chest to her belly button, and then the smallest of curves jutting outward.

"…I don't know, Mary." America said, thoughtfully. "I get that curve after particularly extravagant Palace feasts, too."

"Why don't we let his Majesty decide?" Mary suggested, with a smile. America could tell that, though she tried to maintain an air of respectful distance, Mary was thrilled at the thought of being in the room the first time Maxon saw a baby bump.

"Good idea." America allowed, with a smile. Maxon could use something cheerful after the rough, early morning he'd had. "Maxon!" America called.

They heard footsteps, and then Maxon's head poked through the doorway looking startled, "Are you alright?" he asked.

"Perfect. Come here and have a look at something for me, would you?" America asked, holding a hand out to him.

Realizing that his wife was not in any immediate danger, Maxon took a moment to straighten himself up, then crossed the room quickly and took her outstretched hand into his own.

"What is it?" he asked.

"Down on the floor, please." America instructed.

"What? Why?" Maxon looked between America and Mary, who could not hide her giggles.

"Because your wife just asked you to do something." America informed him, firmly.

Maxon sighed, "That reason never works when your husband asks _you_ to do something." he complained as he knelt down to the floor. "You always make me…" he trailed off. While he'd been griping, America had turned so that she was now standing in profile before him, and he could clearly see the little curve. Maxon blinked several times, just looking at it, the distance between his nose and her stomach a measure of inches. Finally, he broke into the widest, most joyful, boyish grin she'd ever seen on his face as he looked back up at her, excitedly. "It's here!"

America's hand flew to her mouth as she laughed at this ecstatic response. "Well, not quite. We've still got about six and a half months—"

But he wasn't listening. He interrupted her with excited words punctuated by an endless stream of kisses placed all over her lower belly. "That's—" kiss, "My—" kiss, "Baby—" kiss, "Bump!" kiss.

"I think calling it a 'bump' might be a little premature." America said, running both of her hands through Maxon's golden strands, mussing them up just the way she liked them.

He leaned back, closing his eyes at the feel of her hands through his hair and letting out a contented sigh that sounded like a half-moan. "Thank you, America. For showing me this."

"Seriously, Maxon, I could just be bloated." America grinned. "This is far from a 'baby bump'. This is, at best, a 'baby lump'." She looked down at the almost invisible little blob sticking out from below her bellybutton.

To prove he didn't care, Maxon just assaulted the lump with a series of loud kisses until America stepped back, giggling, and allowed Mary to help her into her dress. Maxon stayed with them until America was finished getting ready, and then they dismissed Mary and he escorted America down to the dining room for breakfast.

Usually, when it was just the two of them, they'd take their breakfasts in one of their suites, relishing the privacy. But sometimes it was nice to go down to the dining room and fill up the cavernous empty space with sounds of 'I love you's and early morning laughter. Maxon had grown up taking breakfast in the dining room with his parents, but never known such lovely sounds were possible until America.

After breakfast, America held a meeting in her office with Gavril and Silvia. They were discussing the televised coverage of the upcoming Grateful Feast parade, as well as beginning to outline the very special edition of the _Report_ during which they'd be announcing the baby in just two weeks time. Gavril was pushing hard for one more public appearance, full of hints about her pregnancy to keep the fires of public curiosity blazing.

"I don't want to push our luck, with the rebel situation being what it is." America said. She and Gavril couldn't really go into more detail in front of Silvia without getting her officially authorized to know about top level national security matters. Though it wouldn't have been too difficult to do because she was on the Queen's Council, Silvia, as one might imagine, had absolutely _no_ interest in being invited to security briefings. She was the Queen's personal assistant and the Palace's resident royal protocol expert, military strategy was not a part of her world and she preferred it that way.

"I understand your hesitancy, your Majesty, perhaps you could consent to a photographed family visit?" Gavril suggested.

"My family is busy, Gavril, they don't live their lives at the Palace's beck and call." America shook her head.

"I have a hard time imagining a world in which Lady May doesn't leap at the chance to help you, your Majesty. And you need all the help you can get." Gavril said, diplomatically.

"What about an information leak?" America suggested. "It wouldn't require any additional appearances on my part, or on Maxon's. It would be easy to arrange, and wouldn't strain the Palace guard's resources like vetting columnists to visit the Palace might."

"What sort of information leak were you thinking?" Gavril asked, leaning forward slightly in his chair. He was finding more and more that he liked working with America on these types of media relations projects. This Queen, in particular, had always had killer instincts about how to use media to sway public opinion, from the moment she got off the plane at the beginning of King Maxon's Selection and spent all of that time greeting citizens at the airport. It was something that came very naturally to her, more so even than Queen Amberly.

"Something simple, but suggestive." America mused. "A kitchen maid could put in extra orders at a bakery in town… say that the Queen has been craving their strawberry tarts to no end." Incidentally, it was true. America had a penchant for all things strawberry at the moment, but strawberry tarts most of all.

Gavril nodded. "Yes, specifically mentioning the word 'craving', I like that. That will definitely raise some eyebrows."

Silvia added, "I could have one of my junior assistants call one of the gossip columnists and tip them off. Suggest they ask the bakery about any recent orders placed for the Queen from the Palace."

"That'll work." Gavril nodded. "I'll get started on that—"

He was interrupted by a loud, familiar, dreadful siren wail.

America felt ice cold fear douse her insides and her stomach clenched. The rebels. Had they learned about the plan to rescue the hostages? Had they found any of the covert operations squads that were encircling them to perform the rescue operation? Maxon had been in meetings from very early that morning to oversee the final preparations for the rescue mission, had something vital piece of information been leaked to the rebels from that meeting?

There wasn't time to worry about this, just as America got to her feet, the doors separating her office from Maxon's swung open. Maxon's face looked tormented. "Ames?"

"Damn it, Maxon." America scowled, dashing quickly over to him. Silvia and Gavril followed quickly behind her. "We connected our offices so that you would go straight down to the safe room, _not_ so that you would have a shorter distance to run as you come over and escort me down to the safe room. I don't need an escort. I know the way." Maxon was locking the doors to the office as America pulled open the panel to reveal the stairwell that led to the main safe room. Silvia and Gavril hurried down at America's insistence, and when he was done securing the doors, Maxon hurried over to her, stopping right in front of her. "Go down!" America insisted, as if he was crazy.

"You first, please." He begged.

Arguing with him was moot at this point, it would always be Maxon's instinct to protect her first. America hurried quickly but carefully down the steps toward the safe room, and was consoled by the comforting sound of Maxon's heavier footfalls right behind her.

When they got down to the room, America was very pleased to see Paige and Esther already there, but looking thoroughly confused. Apparently, they were still waiting on Mary, who would would likely have been farther away from an entrance to the main safe room. "I'll explain everything in just a minute, girls." America said as she passed them.

Silvia and Gavril were standing in the far corner together and America went up to them next. "We can finish our meeting down here, can't we?"

"Of course we can." Silvia said, primly. Of course they could. Silvia wasn't one to let rebels disrupt the Palace schedule. It was her own little way of fighting back.

"Good." America said. "Give me just a few moments and I'll be ready to go." Gavril gave her a tiny bow and Silvia gave her a little curtsey as she turned back to find her husband, looking a little lost, standing right by the entrance.

"Maxon?" America called. He turned to look at her and she held a hand out for him. He stuffed one hand in his pocket and then held the other out, taking hers and allowing her to lead them into an empty corner where they could talk freely without being overheard. Mary finally made it down to the room and the door was closed and locked behind her, just as America and Maxon made it over.

It took a few quiet moments before Maxon had his thoughts organized well enough to share them. America waited patiently, forcing her face into a calm expression. "We didn't think they'd attack the Palace." Maxon finally said, anxiously.

"I can see your reasoning." America said, soothingly. "They were busy abducting innocent civilians and murdering them one by one, and they haven't had the numbers to get in a proper attack on the Palace in years. Honestly, it's a waste of time at this point, we have so many well-trained guards, now that volunteering doesn't mean shipping out to New Asia."

"We don't think they know about the map that our informant turned over, but we can't be sure." Maxon's brow creased into the worried expression that America found so compelling. "Maybe they found out and they're striking before we can strike?"

"Maxon that doesn't make sense." America said, folding her arms tightly. "How would attacking the Palace now stop you from ordering a raid on their camps and freeing the hostages?"

Maxon sighed, frustratedly, and rubbed a hand over his eyes, wrapping his other across his chest. When he was done attacking his own eyeballs, he crossed that arm, too, and he and America stood there, perfect mirrors of one another. "I don't know. I don't know what's going on." Maxon finally said, shaking his head. He was disappointed with himself and America had no doubt that he was hearing Clarkson's voice in his head telling him that he was unfit to rule.

America reached out and placed a hand on his arm gently. "We're safe. And we're about to execute a devastating raid on these rebels, after which our people will be safe, too. Maybe this is a last, desperate attempt on your life?"

Maxon shook his head. "I don't know. Sometimes I don't think they'd kill me, even if they had me right in front of them. These rebels aren't really like the ones from my father's time as King. These men aren't desperate like those were, they're vengeful now. It's almost like they have something specific in mind for me, and sometimes I think that it's worse than death."

America frowned and studied her husband's worried face closely. "That reminds me." She said, in a lecturing tone. God, she was starting to sound like her mother. "When that alarm rings, you are supposed to go straight down to the safe room. You can't come looking for me, you matter more than I do."

"Not anymore." Maxon said, looking up from his crossed arms, his eyes blazing.

"Why not?" America asked, "I might be pregnant, but you're still the King, and that makes you more important-"

"No, it doesn't."

"Maxon, don't fight me on this." America said, firmly.

"I'm not." Maxon said. "I'm informing you."

"Maxon-"

"Ames, I mean it. Legally, you are top priority until that baby is born. That's Illéan law."

America blinked at him, stunned. So he wasn't just being stubborn. "I didn't know that."

"If I die, the country still has a future. If you die, you take this monarchy's whole future with you."

"You... you'd have another baby someday, Maxon." America said, softly.

"There's no guarantee. Particularly with you and me, there's no telling what losing you would do to me." America wanted to argue, but it was hard when she could only imagine what losing him would do to her. "You are top priority until that baby is born." he reiterated. "And if I die, then you become the Queen Regent of Illéa, and you and Stavros teach that baby how to be King or Queen until its coronation at age 20."

"Wait a second." America said, frowning. "Is that something that you and Stavros have actually discussed?"

"Of course." Maxon said.

America didn't like the sound of that at all. "I'm not raising your baby with Stavros. I'm raising it with you. So stop making plans for your death."

Maxon offered her a weak smile and then finally unwrapped his arms, leaning forward and placing a hand on each of her upper-arms. "I know it upsets you, but if the time ever came when you had to rule without me, you'd be grateful that I have it all arranged for you. It's not an act of surrender to my death, it's an act of love for you and that baby." America frowned and huffed and Maxon laughed lightly, finding her adorable. "I'm wildly in love with you." he told her, affectionately.

"I'm mildly in like with you." America replied, petulantly. Maxon was crazy if he thought, even for a heartbeat, that she was going to raise his baby with Stavros, no matter how good a grandfather Stavros was. America shook her head to shake away the notion and then she said, "Since we're trapped down here, I want you to stay with me. No secluding yourself and pacing the floor, wracking your brain to figure out what you did wrong." She knew him so well.

Maxon nodded, looking a little relieved at the invitation. He wouldn't have invited himself to her meeting with Gavril and Silvia, but one benefit of being madly in love with his queen was that she was right there with him during anxious safe room moments like this, and he wanted to take advantage of that.

She led him over to the triangle of chairs that Mary, Paige, and Esther had formed and the girls jumped to their feet on seeing them approach.

"Are you all alright?" America asked, nervously.

"Yes, your Majesty." Mary answered for them. Paige nodded emphatically and Esther couldn't seem to lift her eyes from her shoes but appeared unscathed. This was their first encounter since America promoted Esther to the status of the Queen's ladies maid. Mary had been training her, but Esther wasn't ready to start making forays into the Queen's suite quite yet.

"Good." America said. She felt Maxon's hand on the small of her back and smiled just a little, comforted by the touch. "I'm sure you're all wondering what you're doing here instead of in one of the servant's safe rooms."

This wasn't Mary's first time in the royal safe room though, and she smiled slightly, "We're curious, your Majesty, but not surprised."

America nodded, "Paige, do you remember Anne?"

Paige nodded, just a little. She knew, from her first night at the Palace, that Anne had been the maid that America had sent for when she'd been shot. Their paths had crossed a few times after that, when Anne had gone down to the kitchens to fetch something for then Lady America, and ever since Paige's promotion, Anne was a constant presence in America and Mary's conversations.

America turned to Esther, "Anne was before your time, Esther, but she was my head maid during the Selection. She was very dear to me. To all of us. And she was killed during the rebel attack that stole King Clarkson and Queen Amberly from us." Esther nodded her understanding, solemnly. " Well," America said, addressing all of her maids now, "We received a video from the rebels, and among many other things, it suggested that Anne's death was no accident. That she'd been targeted because she was close to me. The King and I can't really see how that's possible, images of you ladies don't circulate in public. Even if they'd somehow known her name, how could they have identified her?" America sighed, heavily. "But either way, I have formally requested of the guards that you ladies join us down here in the royal safe room from now on. I like to know that you're safe, and soon enough we'll have little princes and princesses down here with us. It would be nice to have some extra help on that front during rebel attacks. Alright?" America asked, checking in with them.

They looked startled and worried by this news, that Anne might have been targeted. Esther was surprisingly the first to recover, "Of course, your Majesty."

America smiled warmly at her, "Thank you." America was about to turn to Gavril and Silvia and head over to continue their meeting when Maxon stayed her with his hands and leant down to her ear. He whispered, he warm breath tickling her skin, "Glance very casually over at Silvia and Gavril, then turn back to me and tell me if I'm hallucinating."

America looked at him, puzzled, and subtly turned her head to look at the corner where Gavril and Sivlia stood, waiting. America's eyes widened in surprise and she couldn't fight the smile spreading across her face as she saw Gavril's hand placed reassuringly on Silvia's arm. They stood much closer together than necessary, talking in rapid, hushed whispers.

America turned her head back to Maxon and nodded, leaning forward to whisper, "I think that's happening, Maxon."

"Wow." Maxon shook his head. "After all these years. They've been seeing each other around the Palace for most of my life." Maxon said in a hushed voice. "What's changed?"

"I don't know." America puzzled. "Maybe it's because I have them working directly together so often, with this amendment?"

Maxon leaned back and looked her in the eyes, smiling in a satisfied way and nodding. That sounded like a good reason to him.

America grinned and seized Maxon's hand, leading him over. When Silvia saw them coming, she leapt back and curtseyed unnecessarily. Maybe she was compensating for the guilt of having some kind of feeling for a coworker. That was probably frowned upon in Palace protocol. No matter the reason, Gavril seemed to find it endearing, and smiled that famous 'Gavril Fadaye' smile down at her.

They were about to dive right back into their meeting when they heard a guard enter the code and open the safe room door. "All clear." he announced, bowing towards Maxon and America.

"Thank you." Maxon said, offering America his arm.

"There's something else, your Majesties, and Mr. Fadaye. A message from Stavros."

"Go ahead." Maxon said, glancing at Gavril curiously. Gavril looked just as puzzled, offering his arm to Silvia, who ignored it.

"He asked me to relay to the both of you that there is an emergency meeting in security room A, and to make certain that her Majesty attends as well. During the attack, there was a rebel hack on the state run television channel frequency. There was a rebel transmission, a video."

"Another hostage?" Maxon asked, pale as a ghost.

"Yes, your Majesty. A publicly televised execution."

America closed her eyes slowly and shook her head, trying to un-hear what she'd just heard. Their careful plans to control the public's reaction to the news of the hostages had just blown up in their faces. What kind of monster did it make her, that America's first thought wasn't for the family of the slain Illéan citizen murdered on public television? What did it say about her, that her first thought was how many public approval points they were about to lose? How much harder the rebels had just made it for her to secure the amendment to the laws of inheritance? She didn't have time for an existential crisis, though. Maxon was already leading the way quickly upstairs to begin dealing with the new situation.


	25. Chapter 25

"It was a diversion." Stavros announced immediately, hardly taking the time to bow at America and Maxon as they appeared in security room A out of breath from the rapid walk up from the safe room. "The attack on the Palace was a diversion. It was just to ensure that we would all be tucked away, unable to stop the frequency hack on the Public Access Channel. No injuries, no fatalities on their side or our side."

"Show me." Maxon ordered, taking a seat facing the large television screen.

"Your Majesty?" Stavros asked America. His tone was reverential, but his face was almost fatherly in its concern.

As badly as America wanted to see exactly what the rebels had done this time, she faltered. She valued her seat at the table next to Maxon more than anything, it was not something that had been afforded to any other Queens in Illéa's history. But the last time, after watching the rebel transmission, she'd had an intense, visceral reaction, no doubt exacerbated by her pregnancy hormones. She'd been physically sick at what she'd seen. She wanted to know what the rebels had done, but she did not want to put undue stress on the baby, like last time.

"You've seen it, Carter?" America asked, turning to Carter Woodwork, who was looking pale and anxious. He was standing in while Aspen was out on paternity leave. This was his first week as head of security, and he looked practically defeated by it.

"I have." Carter nodded, faintly.

"Brief me." America commanded, leading the way back out into the hall. Maxon and Stavros gave her approving glances as they prepared the screen to view the video transmission that all of Illéa had just born witness to.

"Yes, your Majesty." Carter said, following her out. The door closed behind them and America could hear, through the door, the video begin to play. It was the same voice from last time. The rebel narrating what he was doing again, this time addressing the citizens of Illéa instead of just Maxon.

America quickly ducked into security room B, a slightly smaller room that was still much too large for a meeting of just two people.

"Are you alright, Carter?" America asked concernedly, now that it was just the two of them.

"This never should have happened." He shook his head. "Aspen never would have let this happen."

"This is not your fault." America assured him. "You did not attack the Palace, you did not take hostages and execute them on national television. The rebels are at fault, no one else."

"I could have prevented the lockdown from triggering, I know I could have." Carter tried to explain, desperation in his eyes. "They shouldn't have been able to get far enough into the Palace to trigger the alarm. I should have stopped that-"

"Don't beat yourself up about this." America shook her head. "Call Aspen when we're done with this meeting, he'll tell you. I mean, if he's not too busy beating _himself_ up for not being here, he'll tell you." she chuckled. She could just imagine Aspen's horror when he found out about the lockdown. He'd probably seen the rebel transmission and was in full Aspen-Freakout mode that very moment. Possibly with baby Meri in his arms as he paced the floor.

Carter, however, seemed vaguely mollified by this thought. "Right. You're right."

"Marlee and Kile got through the lockdown okay?" America asked.

"They're fine. Kile's getting better about not crying when he hears the siren."

"Good. I like it better when they're in the royal safe room with me, but I know Marlee prefers to dash into whatever is close."

"That's changing, as Kile gets better at walking. It doesn't take as long to get him places now, and he's getting better at stairs. I'll bet they start joining you and Maxon in the main safe room soon." Carter said.

"I hope they do." America said. There was a long, nervous silence. America was almost afraid to hear the details of the transmission, but she did her best to channel her inner-Amberly. "So... the video?" Okay, her inner-Amberly could use some work, that wasn't the most elegant transition in history.

"It was a man this time. A father, husband... same type as the woman from last time. He's... he _was_ a family man who'd been missing for a few weeks. He didn't look ill-treated, except that his hands were bound and he was gagged. He was middle-caste, a Four."

"Name?"

"Barrett Bronson, aged 32. Three daughters at home, and a pregnant wife."

America winced. She didn't know what she would do if she lost Maxon right now. She seriously did not even know where she'd start. She rubbed the little lump below her bellybutton, still invisible beneath her dress, and said, "Did they kill him in the same way they killed that woman, Anne?"

"Yes. A shot to the head. Apparently, they believe in giving these hostage clean deaths, not making them suffer. It's such bizarre logic, Amer... Queen Ameri-"

"Oh, stop." America waved the title away. "It's just us, here."

Carter nodded. "It's bizarre logic, America. They don't blame these people for what happened to the South, but they are punishing them all the same. They're citing reparations for the long suffering of their family members, but they don't want these members of families to suffer."

America shook her head. "It's madness. It's actual, clinical madness."

"No matter the reasoning, we're closing in on them. We're about 36 hours from executing our coordinated attack."

"What else do I need to know about that video?"

"Just that it was broadcast into every building with a television in Illéa, as well as Illéan allies who like to follow the Public Access Channel, all across the world."

"It's the middle of the day, do we really think very many people saw it?" America asked. Most Illéans were at work at this hour. It didn't really solve the international problem, most of their allies had been sitting down to dinner when the frequency had been hacked, but it was the only fleeting hope America could cling to.

"It's hard to say, Mr. Fadaye didn't have anything conclusive to offer as far as ratings. We'll know more about that later. When Stavros asked, Mr. Fadaye _did_ mention that a lot of Threes and Fours work in buildings that leave a television on in the background of their offices for employees to watch on breaks. And, even if they didn't see it live, news of it will spread like wildfire. It might even be partially re-broadcast if the Palace doesn't intervene."

"I suppose that's true." America hung her head, thinking of how weak this made Maxon seem, domestically and internationally. "I really hate this."

"I'd be more concerned if you really liked it." Carter shrugged. It took America a moment to hear the little quip, and longer for the weak smile to reach her lips.

"Should we go back over there?" she asked.

Carter checked his watch. "Another minute. Just to be safe." America sighed, butterflies swarming her stomach, as they waited for the replay of the rebel video to finish. It was a long, silent, heavy minute. Finally, Carter turned and opened the door for her and America walked past him and led them both back into security room A.

When they arrived, Gavril and Stavros were almost at each other's throats.

"If we don't come out now, and I mean _right now_-" Gavril was insisting, heatedly.

"Fine!" Stavros gestured wildly with one hand, the other made a fist and rested on the table he was leaning over. "Go out _right now_, take the King and Queen, put them on television right now and let them reassure the nation-"

"It won't mean anything-"

"But you may not so much as _hint_ that we have the locations of the hostages-"

"It won't mean _anything_," Gavril yelled, "If we can't tell the people some of what we're doing. What am I supposed to have the King say, 'Oh, yeah, we saw that too. That wasn't great, was it?'"

America had never seen Gavril this upset. Likely it was the sting of being outplayed by rebels on his home turf, television.

"Any comment on retaliation could jeopardize the lives of the hostages." Stavros replied, leaning back and folding his arms. He felt he had the moral high ground, and everything in the way he was standing showed it.

"None of this would be happening if you'd let us announce the hostages publicly. We've been sitting on a rebel transmission for a week now, we could have put it out there with our commentary, we could have controlled everything."

"Oh, here it comes. Are you going to say 'I told you so', Fadaye?" Stavros glared.

Gavril ignored him and continued his rant, "But you didn't listen to me, and now, the rebels have_ all_ of the control. And King Maxon looks surprised, confused, and even afraid by not coming right back with quick and decisive action."

"It doesn't matter how I look, Gavril." Maxon said, softly but firmly.

"It matters that the people feel safe with you in control." Gavril returned, lowering his voice when addressing Maxon but keeping all of the depth of feeling. "It matters that they support any action you take in the future."

America stepped forward, announcing her return to the room. "We won't give specifics. We'll say that we saw it, that it was abhorrent, and that the rebels will pay dearly. Which they will. That'll be enough to buy us time, while being obscure enough not to tip off the rebels."

"It would be better to give the people something specific." Gavril insisted, but he wasn't angry anymore. She was like his little media protégé in a lot of ways, America and Gavril always worked well together, and her idea had the benefit of being the strongest option available to them. "It would be better to outline some kind of plan, even in the vaguest terms, to reassure the people—"

"It would _not_ be better for the people who are currently being held captive." Stavros insisted, firmly. It was his job to keep an eye on the big picture, while it was Gavril's job to focus his gaze exclusively on maintaining the monarchy's public image. Therefore, in this instance, they could not possibly see eye to eye.

"Without swift and dramatic retaliation, King Maxon is going to lose major points in his approval ratings." Gavril shook his head. "We could still parlay this into a significant gain by demonstrating the King's decisiveness and force."

Maxon shook his head. "At the cost of the hostages. I won't use their lives as collateral to improve my approval ratings."

"But, sir, the amendment-"

"We'll make it up." America said, soothingly, coming over to place a hand on Maxon's shoulder. It was unsurprisingly tense, but eased slightly at her touch. "We'll make it up, we've got time. Better this happen now than after we announce the baby. People will get the news of a successful raid, and then next week we'll announce the baby. It'll be a double dose of good news. We'll take a beating for the next couple of days while people assume we were caught off-guard and aren't doing anything, but then we'll bounce right back."

Gavril sighed, frowned, and then lowered himself into a chair, relenting. He had a soft spot for America, especially when she happened to be right.

This was enough for Stavros, "I presume we can move on to the next issue, Fadaye?"

Gavril grunted. America almost chuckled at this unnaturally gruff attitude from the usually absurdly affable Gavril Fadaye. She crossed over to the table at the back of the room and poured cups of coffee for Gavril and Maxon, then brought them over. Maxon rewarded her with a kiss on the cheek, and Gavril looked like he could have rewarded her with a kiss on the cheek, he was so grateful. She gave him a little pat on the shoulder and he perked right up. They were bonded by the fact that they'd both tried to warn Maxon and Stavros that the news of rebel hostages would be worse if the people heard about it from anywhere other than Maxon. And now they had to be here, and be right, and not be able to derive any pleasure from it because their rightness came at such a steep price.

Stavros was on to the next concern on the agenda, "I've got a report from our scouts. There's been no movement at the rebel camps, and nothing at the hostage locations. That's a bit of good news, we still have no reason to believe that they know that we're on to them. We're on schedule to execute the raids, just over 36 hours from now."

Maxon nodded, thoughtfully. "I want a real discussion about how to cut off their funding, Stavros. Now that we have a plan in play for damaging the rebel camps and freeing the hostages, let's turn our new British espionage contingent to figuring out where exactly all of this money is coming from."

"Yes, sir."

"If we need to bump up the aristocracy discussion, let's do it. Whatever it's going to take to pacify those damned loyalist Twos, let's get it done."

"Yes, sir. We can put a discussion on the books for later in the month. Nothing before the baby announcement."

"Fine." Maxon sighed, "Gavril, what's our play here on the video? Do we ban affiliates from airing it?"

"If you try to stop people who haven't seen it from seeing it, it will only ignite a greater desire on their part to watch the whole thing, and it will create resentment for you and the monarchy. They'll feel it an oppressive censorship. The best we can hope for is a sanitized version being rebroadcast, and I can work backchannels to push for that. It won't come from the Palace, it can come from friends of mine at comparatively independent news networks. They can call for self-censorship in the name of decency standards. In that way, the most graphic and provocative part of the video, the shooting, won't be shown again. It'll be discussed widely, of course, but it won't be seen again. Maybe it'll keep that poor man's death from becoming pure televised bloodsport fodder, and keep those little girls from having to watch their father's murder on a continuous loop for the next few news cycles."

"Good. That's what we'll do." Maxon shook his head. It was anything but 'Good', and it was disturbing that such a thing passed for 'Good' because of the truly terrible day they were having.

America sighed. "Gavril, you should call everyone in for the _R__eport_. Maxon and I should get ready. Stavros, write the first draft of the speech Maxon will read today. Gavril will edit it to make the second draft, and Maxon will take the final pass at it."

"Nothing specific, Fadaye." Stavros reminded him, tersely. He still wasn't pleased at the insubordination from earlier.

"Fine." Gavril said to Stavros, then he stood, "I'll see you soon, your Majesties." He bowed, then left the room.

Maxon was looking up at America now, just the faintest flicker of amusement on his face, "Any other commands, America?"

She could have been upset that he hadn't called her 'queen' as he'd teased her about making commands. Only using her first name took away the powers he'd given her when they'd married. If she was just 'America', then she had no business giving commands to royal advisers. If she was his queen, then she had every right. But he'd been through too much that day, he was reeling. And he wasn't mad that she'd just given his advisers commands, it saved him the trouble. She forgave him. "Just one." she said, giving his shoulder a gentle squeeze. "Follow me."

She led them back up to his room, trying to ignore the whispers of shocked servants who'd heard about the video or seen it by now. When they were alone in his room, America studied her husband for a silent moment. Maxon sat on the edge of his bed, shoulders slumped, devastated.

"Maxon-"

"No." he didn't want to be consoled.

"We knew they had more hostages, we knew this was possible."

"We did not know they'd try to broadcast an execution on public television." he argued.

"No. But we knew they'd want the public to know about the hostages eventually. To try to tear you down and frighten everyone into submission."

"He wasn't a soldier." Maxon shook his head. "He survived the draft, he was so lucky, his number never got called. He wasn't a soldier. He was a father. His wife is having another-"

"I know." America said, soothingly, joining him on the edge of the bed.

"He was hoping he'd finally get a boy... to take fishing on the weekends." Maxon's voice broke, and his shoulders shook with a sob.

America's brow furrowed and she encircled his shoulders with her arms, pressing a kiss to his temple. It wasn't often she saw him so vulnerable, he was usually so composed. "You're a good king." she reminded him.

"I'm not!" he insisted.

"Yes, you are." she said, firmly.

"I can't fix this." he shook his head, tears falling heavy from his long, long lashes. "I have nothing to offer them. The family. What could I possibly give them to make this any better?"

"Justice." America reminded him.

"There is no justice!" Maxon shook his head insistently. "What can I take from these rebels that would hurt them equal to the pain of that family? That baby never knowing his father, that father never knowing his son? Those little girls with no one to walk them down the aisle when they get married, that woman with no loving partner to help her raise their children? Who's going to hold her hand when she goes into labor? Who's going to help her with 3 AM feedings and who's going to run to the store in the middle of the night when they accidentally run out of diapers?" he was really fixating on this, and America knew why. He was imagining America as the widow, just like America's first instinct had been to imagine Maxon as the dead man. This man had apparently been the kind of husband and father Maxon wanted to be, the loving, fishing kind, and it was really getting to Maxon that the man had been targeted and killed for being that kind of family man. Maxon gave a shuddering sigh, "The rebels don't have anything I can take from them to make them feel that terrible, all consuming ache." Maxon shook his head. "There is no justice."

"You're going to stop them before they can hurt any more families, though. You're going to save a dozen fathers and mothers still being held captive."

"What would you want?" Maxon asked, collapsing back on his bed.

"What?" America asked, confused.

Maxon sniffed, trying to stop his tears. "What would you want, if it had happened to you? What could the King have offered you, if it had happened to you?"

America curled up against his side, her knees by his shoulder and her elbow by his knees. "If—"

"If the rebels had taken your dad, I mean. I can't imagine, really, because I had a terrible father. But this man, the one who died today, he was a great father. He adored his children and his wife. He sounds like your dad, to me."

America shook her head, unable to properly envision her father being murdered instead of dying of a heart condition. "Nothing. I mean, short of throwing all of the rebels in jail forever-"

"You wouldn't have wanted them dead?" he was surprised.

"No, I don't think so." America shook her head. "Because if they're alive, then every positive thing I do for the rest of my life is an act of defiance. They tried to ruin our family and the country, and they failed. Look at me, I just sold a painting for a bunch of money, I just performed at a party full of famous people, I just got married, had children, and am living a successful, happy life. Your mission failed. If they're dead, then I can't throw my accomplishments in anyone's face. I need them alive to make them sorry."

Maxon frowned. "What if the King had invited you to the Palace, to-"

"No." America shook her head. "That would have made it worse. That would have made me like a spectacle. Just something for other people to stare at and pity. I would have hated the pity."

"Yes, you would have." he acknowledged. "Fine, we'll leave the families to their grief."

"Good idea." America said. "But, Maxon?"

"Hm?" he was pensive.

"If _you_ have grief about losing these people, that's okay, too."

"I do, actually. I'm devastated."

"I can tell. You're allowed to feel that way about it." She leant forward and pressed a kiss to his lips. "Don't feel like you have to conceal that. This is a devastating thing, you can be devastated by it without intruding on the grief of these families."

"Thanks, Ames."

"I'm going to call in Mary, now. Join us in my room, when you're ready?"

"I will." Maxon promised, taking her hand and giving it a squeeze before letting her go.

America just had time to close the door adjoining her suite with Maxon's, and ring for Mary, when there was a knock at her door.

"Your Majesty?" it was Silvia.

"The schedule has been derailed today, I'm afraid, Silvia." America said, gesturing for her to come in.

"We'll get everything worked out, your Majesty, don't worry." Silvia said. "I came to inform you that you have a phone call from your mother waiting for you in your office. She's concerned about the rebel transmission and wants to know what King Maxon is going to do about it."

"I can't talk to her right now. We're busy." America rolled her eyes, imagining her mother standing in the kitchen of her house, feeling perfectly entitled to demand America's immediate attention, not to mention classified national security details. Silvia cleared her throat, as if reminding America that queens don't roll their eyes, and America relented, "Please inform my mother that I am terribly sorry, but I will have to phone her back sometime after dinner."

Silvia nodded at this much more appropriate response. "Is there anything that you need, your Majesty?"

"No, Silvia. Thank you." A thought occurred to her. "Gavril is going to need some help, though. He's putting together a quick, emergency episode of the_R__eport _right now. Perhaps you could assist him after giving my mother the brush off?"

Silvia blushed, and nodded, eyes falling to her feet. She curtseyed and dismissed herself just as Mary appeared.

"Something black." America said, knowing Mary well enough to anticipate her first question. "We're mourning."

Mary nodded grimly and helped America out of the yellow dress she'd been wearing, then disappeared back into the closet.

Maxon came through, having had a moment to pull himself together, and when he spotted America standing there without a dress on he came over to study the baby lump some more. "I think it's grown since this morning."

America smiled, "No, it hasn't."

"Just a little." he winked, and went over to sit on her bed. America took her place at her vanity and began cleaning the day makeup off of her face. Her makeup for the studio was different, made for bright lights and cameras.

Mary reappeared and laid a long, flowing black dress on the bed next to Maxon before joining America and unpinning her hair.

"Ames?" Maxon said, tense and anxious.

"What?"

"What is this?" he asked, holding out a small, white envelope for her to see.

"I don't know. Where did it come from?"

"Your bed." He said.

America stood and hurried over to him, taking the blank envelope from his hands, a terrible feeling of foreboding in the pit of her stomach.

There was a note inside.

America sank down next to Maxon and pulled it out of the envelope, holding it down for both of them to see.

The neat handwriting belied a horrifying message.

'_King Maxon,_

_If __I see your wife, I will kill her. I won't take her hostage, you have nothing we want or __need. If __I see your wife, I'll just kill her. Yours sincerely, K__.__'_

Maxon reached over and seized America's free hand, clutching it tightly as they read and reread the note. For the first time since she'd known him, he was trembling.


	26. Chapter 26

The next two days, leading up to the raid on the rebels, were amongst the longest America had ever known in the Palace. She couldn't remember being as distressed within these walls since _the _rebel attack that had almost stolen Maxon from her. The phone in her office rang constantly with reporters hoping for a quick quote, but Gavril had instituted a media blackout as soon as Maxon had finished his speech condemning the actions of the rebels. No one from the Palace was permitted to say a word about anything to anyone, not until those hostages were safe and those rebel camps were flattened.

None of the Illéan columnists felt brave enough to criticize Maxon's handling of the situation outright, but they were very passive-aggressive and snarky about the Palace's media blackout. They suggested that Maxon, being such a young king, was making many mistakes out of inexperience and those mistakes were costing citizens their lives. After reading the third such column, America tearfully begged Gavril to lift the blackout just long enough to reassure the country of Maxon's worthiness to rule.

"One more day, your Majesty. Just one more day, and they'll know everything." Gavril had reassured her soothingly, offering her a cookie from a tin on his desk. She was hardly placated by this response, but the ginger spice cookie really did make her feel better, and she resolved to pay more attention to keeping her blood sugar stable in future. Low blood sugar and a pregnant Queen did not mix well.

In addition to being unable to manage their plummeting approval ratings, the impossibility of getting any substantial work done in a Palace that could not communicate to the outside world, and the tension brought on by knowing that if the rebel raid went wrong, it would take years for the monarchy to recover in the eyes of the people, these rebels were also taking a toll on America's personal life.

The number of guards on the third floor of the Palace was doubled for the foreseeable future, and so any illusion of privacy was destroyed. If Maxon's constant anxiety about losing America had been bad before, in the back of his mind, it now constantly occupied _all _of his mind. He agonized over that note, which he now kept in his right pocket. His left pocket was reserved for the most recent ultrasound image of their baby. These were his duel obsessions.

America and Silvia tried to coordinate the schedule so that, for the few days after the frequency hacking, America was always a stones throw from Maxon. He seemed to appreciate this, at least once an hour he'd poke his head into whatever room America was in. He wouldn't say anything, he just wanted to see her and see that she was still fine. After a while, they all stopped acknowledging these little interruptions. He'd just look in, study America for a moment, give her a nod, and then leave again. He was a wreck.

And that wreck was not confined to daylight hours. When he finally managed to sleep, Maxon would wake up, tossing, turning, and calling out America's name at least once a night. America had no idea how to help him. She honestly was not afraid of what this 'K' from the note might do to her, she was much more afraid of what this 'K' was currently doing to her husband.

And this panicked worry was not confined to Maxon. Aspen voluntarily returned from paternity leave early when Maxon told him about the threat on America's life. Aspen had been Maxon's first call after recovering from the shock of the note, and if the situation had been different, America would have found this demonstration of Maxon's and Aspen's close relationship adorable.

Aspen returned to the Palace early the morning after the attack, and conducted a thorough inspection of America's room, which America was not allowed into anymore. Maxon kept her in his room when they were on the third floor, as if the room next door to the room that had been infiltrated would really be any safer.

Aspen concluded that nothing was taken from America's room when the rebels left the note, nothing was destroyed, nothing was even disturbed from its usual place. All they had done was leave the note. Apparently, what the note had said was very true, they didn't want anything. If they'd wanted anything, they could have taken it. All they wanted from Maxon was to kill his Queen and, unbeknownst to them, his little heir. And also to scare the King out of his mind with the threat of killing America, which, incidentally, was working.

Aspen, Maxon, and Gavril had a long meeting right after Aspen concluded his investigation, a meeting to which America was invited as a cursory gesture of politeness and not to interject any actual opinions. It was determined, amongst these three zealous protectors, that all of America's scheduled public appearances would be canceled for the foreseeable future. Maxon knew they'd have to let America out of the Palace someday, but it wasn't going to be anytime soon. America would have argued for a more measured reaction to the note, but it was still all she could do to keep Maxon from making her sleep in a safe room. She decided to pick her battles until this blew over.

So it had been a long couple of days to say the least. In the wee hours of Friday morning, the raids on the rebel camps were simultaneously executed, but the Palace wouldn't know the complete measure of success until Friday night. They were in a limbo all day, which was doing nothing to ease anyone's nerves.

America had a light schedule on Friday, prescribed for her by Silvia, who was not pleased by the dark circles under America's eyes. It was important that Queens maintain an appearance of composure, and part of that required the Queen to remain healthy. Or, that was what Silvia said, rather than admit how much she'd come to care for America in their years working closely together.

Maxon, however, had a packed schedule, with news of recovered hostages and decimated rebel camps trickling in throughout the day and requiring his attention. So America, Silvia, Marlee, and Kile spent the morning in the Women's Room discussing the Grateful Feast parade and making plans for the next work week, leading up to the big baby announcement. It was Silvia's favorite tactic for fighting back against the rebels, going on with business as usual, and America had to admit, it helped.

America had given Maxon permission to enter the Women's room as soon as he had a break in his meetings so that they could go to their ten week ultrasound appointment together. It was the first slice of nice and normal they'd had in days, and they were coveting it.

There was a gentle summer thunderstorm that morning, and it made America and Kile very sleepy. So Marlee and Silvia kept up their casual planning for the next week in one corner of the room and insisted that America and Kile take a nap together on the other side of the room, in the enormous overstuffed red armchair facing a large window where rivulets of water snaked down in the most entrancing way.

Kile nestled perfectly into the crook of America's arm, his lips pouted out where his cheek pressed against her chest. America drifted off the the sounds of his little steady breaths mixing together with the sounds of the rain on the windows and Marlee and Silvia's hushed chatter on the other side of the room to create the most soothing lullaby.

She woke up to Maxon's warm brown eyes at a level with her own sleepy blue eyes, amusement all over his face, his thumb gently stroking her cheek.

"Are you ready to go?" he asked.

"No." she mumbled, cuddling closer to Kile.

"Don't you want to go and hear our baby's heartbeat for the first time?" Maxon reminded her. Now that she was in her tenth week, the heartbeat was officially loud enough to hear on the machine. This had been _the_ thing that had gotten them through this week.

"Yes." America replied softly, inhaling the smell of Kile's hair, deeply. Whatever baby shampoo Marlee and Carter used on him had the most alluring scent.

"So you should get ready to go, shouldn't you?" Maxon knelt down so that he wouldn't have to remain bent over as he negotiated the end of nap time with his wife.

"Mmm... no." America yawned and closed her eyes, warm and cozy exactly where she was.

"You prefer to keep Dr. Ashlar waiting?"

"Yes."

"That's a bit impolite, isn't it?"

"...No."

"Because you're the Queen?"

"Exactly." America sighed, the grogginess slowly wearing off the longer Maxon talked with her. She peeked an eye open, "And I have this little person weighing me down." she gave Kile, who was letting out the sweetest little toddler snores, a tiny squeeze.

Maxon smiled tiredly, "I can help you with that." He stood and gently gathered Kile into his arms. Kile wiggled a bit but did not awaken, shifting his head to rest on Maxon's shoulder and his little fist to clutch at Maxon's tie.

America was immediately cold, at the loss of this important little source of warmth. "No…" America sighed, and wiggled a little in the chair to try to find a position as warm and comfortable as she'd been with Kile. "You kidnapper." America complained, but then finally accepted the hand Maxon was offering her, pulling herself up to stand.

One bleary-eyed glance across the room and it was clear that Marlee was grinning wildly at them.

"Time to go?" Marlee asked softly, as Maxon led America over to Silvia and Marlee's side of the room.

"Yes." Maxon said, enthusiastically.

"We can't wait to see the picture." Marlee smiled, opening her arms to accept her snoozing son. Maxon delicately laid Kile in his mother's arms, but it took an extra moment to pry those little toddler fingers from his tie.

"I'll make sure to show you tomorrow, Marlee." America said, eyes trained on her husband as he fussed over Kile.

Maxon broke free of Kile's grasp and straightened up, wrapping an arm around America and bidding the others a final farewell.

They didn't say a word until they found themselves in an empty corridor.

"I'll be glad when we don't have to sneak around about this baby anymore." America said, softly. "I want to start putting together a nursery and collecting baby clothes."

Maxon smiled down at her, but it was a strained smile. "I know. But forgive me if I enjoy these last few days of obscurity. Once those rebels know that you're pregnant, it's only going to get worse."

"They won't have much left to attack us with, after today." America tried to reassure him. America had hoped that, with the so far seemingly successful execution of the raids on the rebel camps, Maxon might relax a little. But up 'til now, these raids seemed to be having the opposite effect. Maxon seemed to feel that freeing the rest of the hostages and returning them to their families, whilst simultaneously destroying several large rebel bases, had done nothing but taunt 'K'.

Maxon paused in the hallway and pressed a firm kiss to America's forehead. "I love you." he said, simply.

"I know, Maxon." America assured him. She didn't know what to say to make him feel better. "After the appointment, let's go take a nap, okay?"

"Weren't you just sleeping?" Maxon asked, amused.

"I can't seem to get enough, right now." America shrugged, taking his hand. "Kenna said she was the same way when she was expecting Astra. I'll probably get some of my energy back in a few weeks, the second trimester is supposed to be easier."

"Do you miss talking to Kenna?" Maxon asked, frowning, as they continued walking. He felt guilty that America was cut off from talking to her family until the raids were over.

"I'll be able to call her again tomorrow." America assured him. "I'm fine, I promise."

"I know, you're being very strong. I just… I think we should maybe talk about moving your family into the Palace for a little while, once we announce the baby."

"I don't want to uproot them again—"

"I know. I'm not making a decision, I just want to discuss it. If something happened to them—"

America shuddered, "Okay. We'll discuss it." she promised. "But let's get through today, first."

Maxon nodded, clearly thoughtful about something. "I'll have an assistant come and get me if anything is urgent. Otherwise, I'll let Stavros handle things until after dinner. We'll have that nap."

America smiled up at him, "Maxon, _thank you_." She knew it wasn't easy for him to carve time out for her on a day like today.

"This was part of the deal, as I recall." Maxon smiled, clearly inflating under her adoring gaze. "I'm here for you."

"Yes, you are." she agreed, happily. Just the prospect of curling up under the covers with Maxon was enough to put a spring in her step. Maybe, if it was just a nap, Maxon wouldn't have nightmares this time. This could be really good for both of them.

Dr. Ashlar was waiting for them in the examination room with the sonogram machine in it. One of his assistants showed them in and while Maxon and Dr. Ashlar chatted amiably, America changed out of her day dress into a spare outfit Paige had left for her in the hospital wing that morning. It was just one of Maxon's white t-shirts and a pair of his cotton shorts, but wearing them soothed her. She usually got nervous when she was getting ultrasounds done, as a hundred different anxieties flitted through her mind in the moments leading up to the time when she actually got to see her baby again, and see that it was, in fact, still healthy. Wearing Maxon's clothes helped ground her, and allowed Dr. Ashlar much easier access to her little curved belly.

Dr. Ashlar started with a physical examination, asking America how she'd been feeling and drawing a little bit of blood for a quick panel. As the machine analyzing her blood began to whir and grind, Dr. Ashlar praised America's weight gain for the week, telling her that she was well within the very healthy range. He measured her, and gloated over her little baby lump, warning to look out for what he called a 'pop' in the next week or so, that this was a warning of much more growth to come, as she entered her second trimester. Maxon seemed especially pleased at the prospect of a rapidly growing baby bump.

Finally Dr. Ashlar had America lay back on the examination bed and roll her shirt up, and a swarm of butterflies seized her stomach. She knew, in her mind, that the baby was fine. Every week she had an examination like this, and while she didn't always get an ultrasound, the news was always very good. This was a healthy bun in her oven, and she knew it, but a worst case scenario always played through her mind in the seconds before the sonogram machine turned on and the irrefutable evidence of her baby's health was right before her eyes.

Maxon picked up on this trepidation, seemingly reading her mind, and he leant down and gave her a firm forehead kiss. "What's the worst that could happen? It could have gills?" Maxon joked.

America smiled weakly and played along as Dr. Ashlar finished setting the machine up. "Illéa would have its first half-fish monarch."

"We should put something in the laws to allow for fish Kings and Queens."

"Agreed." America nodded, and Dr. Ashlar fought off a chuckle as he pressed the wand to America's jellied belly.

"Well, there the baby is." Dr. Ashlar said, nodding to the screen with the image displayed on it.

What once had been an interesting amorphous blob had grown into a clearly person-shaped blob. This was the first week they could make out identifiable features.

"I see a nose!" Maxon exclaimed, joyously, examining his child's profile for the first time. "And arms!" There were, indeed, little elongated nubs where arms and legs would go.

"That's a Schreave chin if ever I've seen one." America smiled.

Dr. Ashlar interjected, "And a very well-developed cranium, Majesties, for its age. We're going to have quite the smarty on our hands." he was beaming almost as widely as Maxon.

"I see the heart." America sniffled. Her eyes were misting over, but she blinked the tears back fiercely. She didn't want them to get in the way of her vision.

There was a glowing, blinking white spec in the baby's body, clearly a heart.

"Are you ready to hear it, Queen America?" Dr. Ashlar asked.

America gulped, "_Yes._"

She was bracing herself for the sound, but still felt taken aback when the machine began emitting audio.

At first, all America could make out was white noise from the machine. She furrowed her brow and strained to listen, and Maxon did the same. Then, after a moment, a small, steady thumping sound became obvious. America watched Maxon's face closely, once she'd detected the heartbeat, and her attention was rewarded when she saw the very moment he recognized their baby's heartbeat.

"Ames—" he choked, his own eyes growing misty.

"I know." America grinned.

"That's our baby!" Maxon exclaimed, seizing her hand and leaning down to kiss her quickly.

"Wow." America leaned her head back and breathed, just taking in the steady, reassuring sound.

"That's a good, strong heartbeat." Dr. Ashlar bragged. "I'm hearing 150 beats per minute, and the normal range is 145-165, so that is totally within the green zone."

They made Dr. Ashlar sit there for five whole minutes, listening to that heartbeat and staring at the image of their rapidly developing baby. They finally tore themselves away after some gentle prodding from Dr. Ashlar, who needed to get on with his work for the day.

Maxon made America partake in their afternoon nap topless, and he laid there on the bed with his ear pressed to her bare belly, straining to listen.

"It's still too small." He finally gave up. "I can't hear it."

"It's plum sized." America grinned, remembering what Dr. Ashlar had told them. "Can you imagine?"

Maxon smiled, then rolled off of her stomach, "I want it to get bigger right now!" he complained.

"You are a petulant boy of a king today, aren't you?" America smiled.

"I'm just excited." Maxon grinned, sheepishly, staring up at the ceiling. His thoughts seemed to take a turn and he leant up, looking over at America. "Ames, you know I'll never let anything bad happen to you, don't you?"

"That's one hell of a promise, Maxon, but I don't know that you can keep it." America said, pointedly.

"Fine. Bad things will happen—"

"That's right they will, and if you waste all of your time and energy trying to beat away every bad thing that crosses our path, you're going to be too distracted to appreciate the good things."

"My wise queen." Maxon nodded, then tried again. "Bad things will happen sometimes, but I won't let anyone hurt you."

"I know." America said, reaching out and tugging him up so that he'd be eye level with her in the bed. "You let your father cane you for fear that, if you didn't, he might lash me instead. You jumped in front of a bullet for me, Maxon, you almost died."

"And yet, on seeing you walk into my room, all but unscathed, suddenly my bullet wound felt like nothing at all, a minor irritation." Maxon said, a far-off look in his eyes, as he remembered.

"I'm not scared, Maxon." America assured him. "I'm not scared of that note."

"I know. Maybe you should be."

"Well, I'm not. I don't think much of these rebels."

Maxon smiled, "No, you never have. But maybe you should start."

"Maxon—"

"They got in and out of your room and no one stopped them, Ames." Maxon implored.

"But they weren't exactly undetected, were they?"

"We don't know that they couldn't have been. They were trying to be detected, remember? It was all a big diversion." Maxon frowned and wrapped an arm around America, pressing his forehead to her ear and burying his nose in the crook of her neck.

America took her time responding. "Aspen's working on it." she finally said, definitively. "Nothing gets past Aspen."

"Well, I'd hate for your death to be the first thing. It would destroy this palace, America."

"No, it wouldn't—"

"Aspen would never recover. _I certainly _would never recover. Poor Silvia would suffer a nervous breakdown, she's grown to adore you. Marlee and Carter would be devastated, Gavril would never be the same, and how about the number you've done on Stavros? What about Mary, Paige, and that new girl? What about the pall it would cast over Italy as Nicoletta processed your loss? It would be a global tragedy, Ames."

"I think you're being a little dramatic, Maxon—" she didn't believe the words, but they were all she had to try to help him feel better.

"I'm not." he sighed. "But it doesn't matter. Because I won't ever let anyone hurt you. Or the baby."

"And all of the people you just listed, Nic and Stavros, Gavril and Silvia and Marlee and Carter… none of them will let anything hurt me, either. Aspen would lay down his life for me, in a heartbeat, and that really concerns me, you know, with Lucy and Meri and everything."

"Yeah." Maxon nodded, and it was clear from his tone that he was very pleased with the level of Aspen's devotion.

America smiled and turned her head so that their noses were touching. "Remember that wall we saw in New Asia after we signed the peace treaty? The really big one?"

"Of course."

"That's what I have around me, because of all of those people you listed and their devotion to me and to this baby. That's what the baby and I have all around us, a great big wall. We're safe."

"Mhmm." The metaphor seemed to sooth him. At any rate, his hold on her was loosened and his breathing was becoming steady again. "Do you know what would help that ancient asian wall of yours even more?"

"Hm?"

"Adding some more people to it."

"More guards?" America winced.

"Your family." Maxon said.

America sighed. "You think that they'd be safer here with all of our guards?"

"And we'd all be safer, because they'd be bringing their guards with them." Maxon added, nodding.

"But… Maxon." America whined. "My mother—"

"It wouldn't be forever. Just until this 'K' person is apprehended or killed." he said, soothingly.

"A lot more dangerous stuff happens at this palace than at their house, you know."

"It doesn't take 'a lot' of dangerous stuff to happen, Ames, it only takes one. One dangerous thing that breaks through the barriers. I refuse to see the day a rebel takes your little sister from you, America. I won't have it, not on my watch."

America closed her eyes, trying to shut out the mental image of May being attacked by a rebel. Of what happened to Lucy happening to May, but worse… "Okay." America relented. "Fine."

Maxon smiled a little, but it wasn't light or carefree. He'd played the sister-card, and it had gotten him what he'd been after, but this was no burden off of his shoulders. "I'll call them tonight, once Gavril lifts the blackout. I'll spare you that particular conversation with your mother."

America pressed a kiss to his cheek. "Thank you."

"Are you worried about Kota?" Maxon asked.

"No." America said, shortly.

"Then neither am I."

'Kota'. It had been a while since anyone had brought him up. The name was almost foreign to their ears.

"How soon do you plan on asking them to be here?" America asked, forcing away the specter of her estranged brother.

"Sunday, I'd thought?"

"Sunday." America said, tasting the word. "Okay."

"It'll be nice to have Gerad and May around." Maxon smiled, and it was finally a real, true, happy smile.

"And Kenna and Astra. Kile will be so excited that his playmate is coming to stay."

Maxon sighed, "Finally, a silver lining to this dark, rebel-laden cloud, then."

America wasn't sure just how silver this lining was, but she'd take any win she could get at that point. The idea of her family coming to the Palace to stay safe, but also to put another layer of human shields up between America and the rebels, was unsettling. Even with the rain pattering on the window and Maxon's steady warm breath on her neck, it was hard for America to settle into her nap with the weight of what was at stake pressing so heavily on her mind. She could lose so much more than the amendment, if the rebels had their way. In fact, if the rebels had their way, she could lose _everything_.


	27. Chapter 27

America was nothing but a bundle of raw, exposed nerves, getting ready for the _Report _on the last Sunday in June. Even with the rebel's hostages freed and several major rebel training bases demolished, Maxon's approval ratings trended lower than usual, and that meant trouble. Not just for Maxon, but for the amendment to the laws of inheritance.

According to Gavril, Stavros, Silvia, America's mother, and anyone else who felt like making their opinions known, this episode of the _Report_ was going to be the most important in all of America's reign. It would even trump her spectacularly horrible caste-dissolution episode.

They were announcing the baby that night, and if she and Gavril had done their jobs correctly over the last two and a half months, then the public would be in a frenzy of anticipation, and the perfectly timed and executed announcement would send the public, and the monarchy's approval ratings, over the top. But if America and Gavril had miscalculated, or if the trauma surrounding the rebel hostage murders was still too fresh, then the baby news would fall flat. The people would be happy, but it wouldn't be anything like the six month jubilee that they needed in order to pass the amendment.

America could not stop visualizing a day when, the amendment having failed, America would be looking her wedding-dress-clad daughter in the eyes apologetically and saying, 'Sorry you have to marry this foreign prince and move to the other side of the world, it's just, I gave a really bad performance on the _Capital Report_ when I announced I was pregnant with you, so nobody liked the idea of changing the law. We'll get 'em next time. Good luck in the United Federal Empire of Russia.'

To help keep her mind off of her nerves, America had her wardrobe for the episode, as well as all of her television makeup, moved to the Women's room and she made sure to have lots of company in the hours leading up to the live special. Her mother, May, Kenna, and Astra were in there with her, as well as Mary, Paige, Esther, Marlee, Kile, Silvia, Georgia, Adele, and as a special surprise treat for America, Lucy was there with baby Meri.

There was an excited, electric hum of conversation in the room, and although America wasn't taking part in much of it, just hearing snippets of so many cheerful exchanges helped to steady her nerves. Paige was doing makeup for America's mother, and May was helping Paige, happily chatting away with Adele while doing her makeup. All of the family would be on set today to announce the baby, not just to all of Illéa, but to the whole world.

America snuggled Meri in her arms and sat quietly in a corner, watching the others and trying to avoid thought.

"You're quiet over here, sister." Kenna said, startling America out of her daze of patient non-thinking.

"Nervous."

"Do you want to practice your speech on me?"

"No, Maxon says I'm better when I don't over-rehearse, and in this instance, I agree. I don't want to overthink this. I'm just going to sit here and cuddle my goddaughter until I absolutely have to go somewhere else and do something else."

Kenna smiled gently over at her. "You look good with her."

"I feel good with her. I adore her." America said, smiling down at the little, sleepy eyes staring up at her. Meri was a compliant baby, she didn't cry or fuss unless she was hungry. If she was sleepy, she just got very heavy eyelids and slowly her blinks became longer and longer until she drifted off into easy sleep. "I think she's going to have Aspen's eyes. They're looking a little green to me today." America said, sweetly.

"America… if the amendment doesn't work—"

"Kenna—" America winced. She did _not _want to talk about that right now.

"I just mean… I mean, I think it will. I believe in you, and all of the people you have around you, helping you. I just mean, worst case scenario, the amendment doesn't work… are there other ways? To get what you're looking for?"

America sighed, wishing to go back to her delightful non-thoughtful thoughts. "Not as far as the succession is concerned. That's not my biggest concern, really. I mean, of course I want my daughters to have the right to ascend the throne, that's a big deal. But it wouldn't be the end of the world to have my son ascend the throne instead. The big deal is the phrasing of the amendment. The way it gives my daughters the same rights as my sons. It has major implications."

"Marriage, you mean? Your daughters won't have to make diplomatic marriages?"

"Right. That's important."

"I'll say."

"But it also legally equates a woman and a man for the first time in Illéan law. It would have huge ripple effects on privileges for women."

Kenna tilted her head to the side and smiled. "How?"

"If one law equates women with men, all laws must. It's like if we had one law on the books that gave puppies the right to buy property, but not kittens. Then we went in and changed it so that kittens and puppies were legally equal. Then, not only could kittens buy houses, they could do anything else we legally guarantee to puppies, because—"

"Because they're the same in the eyes of the law." Kenna finished, smirking. "That's not how Maxon's advisers discussed it with you, is it?"

"Oh, I'm quoting them exactly." America grinned. "So think of the law we have on the books that compels us to throw unwed pregnant women in jail."

Kenna frowned. "I'm thinking of it." she said, grimly.

"Imagine how long that law will be on the books, once it can be interpreted that unwed men whose partners are expecting babies must be thrown in jail, too."

Kenna scoffed. "About two minutes, and then it will be stricken from history."

"And what happened to Marlee during my Selection." America said, lowering her voice slightly. "The caning. They caned her because she was property. Women can be made property. Men have unalienable rights unto themselves, their personhood is preserved in law. Women don't have that luxury. At least, not until now. Once women are legally the same as men, either men will be able to be made property or no one will. Our lot will be cast with theirs. That's important."

Kenna nodded. "I'm proud of you, Ames. This is huge."

"Thanks, Ken." America said, her cheeks a little flushed. Recounting all of that with baby Meri in her arms had set America's heart racing. This baby girl might never know a world where she could be bought and sold like her mother was. "I actually feel better now, repeating all of that."

"You look better, too." Kenna smiled. "Less like to vomit. More like to change the world. Remembering your purpose when you're up there tonight will give you that spark behind your eyes, that fire in your words. I know you're just announcing the baby, and nothing to do with the law, but trust me, this is how you want to do it." Kenna gestured to America, the way her posture was straighter, she was leant forward in her enthusiasm for what she was doing, and her eyes were glowing. "You don't want to announce your baby looking faintly ill and anxious bordering on defeated."

America narrowed her eyes at Kenna suspiciously. "So this was all your version of a pep-talk?"

"I'm pretty crafty, aren't I?" Kenna grinned. Over in the far corner, Astra reached out and hit Kile as hard as she could on the arm. "Astra, no ma'am!" Kenna called out as she stood up to go and address the problem. Kile began waling disconsolately, his feelings hurt more than anything else.

"Thanks, Kenna." America said, and Kenna winked at her before rushing over to scold her daughter. Marlee was already on her way to soothe her son and help mediate whatever silly misunderstanding had fostered Astra's attack. In all likelihood, there was no conflict. As America had learned over this last week, since her family had moved into the Palace, Astra had reached an age in toddlerhood where she hit things just to see what would happen. This time the experiment had clearly yielded poor results, as Astra was now crying just as hard at seeing Kile cry, as Kile was crying at having been turned on by his favorite playmate.

America took a deep breath, remembering what Kenna had said. She'd been right. America felt much more like her usual, fighting self now that she'd re-vocalized her purpose. Even if America gave birth to seven sons and never had a single daughter, the baby girl in her arms needed this amendment. And to get the amendment, America needed to win the hearts and minds of the people. And to win over the people, she had to give them an amazing, spectacular performance of a pregnancy. And that started tonight.

"Mary," America called, clearly. "I'm ready."

Mary looked over to America and smiled at the change in the young Queen's demeanor. "You are, aren't you?" Mary said, approvingly. She'd been going through a z-rack of dresses that the women in the royal family would be wearing that evening, which other maids in the Palace had sewn especially for the occasion. Though Mary had overseen the dresses from the sketches to the final stitches, she was still looking through them one more time and making sure that they were all up to snuff. But at America's words, she happily abandoned what she was doing and hurried over to the makeshift vanity, turning on the bright lights that surrounded the portable mirror-and-table contraption, and beginning the task of laying out all of the various brushes and makeups America would need for the night.

America stood carefully, so as not to jostle the almost-sleeping baby in her arms, and gently crossed the room to sit on the soft, padded bench before the mirror. Meri scrunched her little face up at the brightness of the lights, but then relaxed into it, no doubt coaxed by the additional warmth they provided. She gave a little baby sigh and was troubled no more.

"America—" A rich voice with a distinct accent called, and America turned her head to see Maxon's Aunt Adele coming over, tentatively. "How are you feeling, my dear?"

"Well, Aunt Adele." America said, for 'Aunt Adele' was what Adele had insisted America call her ever since the Selection had ended.

"I wanted to catch you before you got into makeup, just in case." Adele said, pulling up a nearby wooden armchair.

"Just in case?" America asked.

"Maxon had me bring all of Amberly's letters for you to read, you knew that, didn't you?"

America nodded, "Thank you for them, Aunt Adele. You have no idea what it means—"

"I know I don't. I can only begin to imagine how important they'll be to you, as a young Queen like she once was. I see so much of her in you—"

America's jaw dropped and her eyebrows flew up her forehead, "You do?" she couldn't stop herself.

"Very much so." Adele nodded. "Amberly changed this country, as you are doing, but she did it quietly, and with an eye for the long game. Much of who Maxon is today is a direct result of Amberly's careful strategizing while Clarkson didn't think Maxon worth paying attention to. I attribute so much of what Maxon has accomplished as King to Amberly. And to you, of course, for bringing Amberly's background work on Maxon to the foreground."

America didn't like referring to Maxon in this way, as if he was nothing more than a pawn. Like he wasn't his own man, just a culmination of Amberly's influence on him mixed with America's. Still, Amberly's own sister saw some of Amberly in America, and that was heartening indeed, no matter what else Adele thought. "Maxon is a very good man, and that is clearly all Amberly's doing." America found some common ground to agree with Adele.

Adele nodded, and smiled, first at America, and then down to America's now clearly obvious little belly. Dr. Ashlar had been right. America's little baby lump was a full blown bump by her next Friday appointment. America had well and truly 'popped'. "At any rate," Adele said, her dark eyes meeting America's light ones, "I dug through and pulled out this specific letter for you, for this occasion, I thought it might be of some use to you today. Maxon has the rest of them, I'm sure he'll give them to you later tonight, but this one you might like to read before you make the announcement." Adele reached into the pocket of her thin, home-sewn floral dress and pulled out a carefully folded, yellowed piece of royal stationary. America recognized the texture and thickness the moment she laid eyes on it. Her heart skipped a beat when she remembered that the paper in Adele's hand wouldn't have America's name on it. It would still say 'From the desk of the Queen of Illéa' at the top, but beneath that it would say 'Amberly Station Schreave'.

America gulped, eyeing the paper covetously. "What… is it?"

"Clarkson didn't want to feature Amberly's family when they announced that she was pregnant with Maxon. He said it was something about stabilizing his public image, not reminding the people that, until that baby was born, he was the last Schreave. If the people saw him, alone, standing next to a gaggle of Stations, it might make him look bad. He didn't want to give rebels ideas about assassinating him and seizing the unclaimed throne. That might have had some truth to it, but I also suspect it was yet another mind game to keep Amberly isolated while she was pregnant…" Adele trailed off, and looked up at America as though just remembering she was there. "Never mind that. The point is, I was in Honduragua for the big announcement, and Amberly wrote me while she was getting ready up in what's now your room, to make a very similar announcement to the one you're about to make. You might find her thoughts relatable… maybe even useful. At least, that's my hope." Adele said, finally, holding the paper out for America to take.

America shifted Meri in her arms delicately, to free up a hand to take the paper. "Thank you." America breathed, unable to believe she was truly receiving such a gift. "Adele… I have no words."

"Save your words for your speech." Adele said, sniffling. Her eyes were misty and her cheeks pink.

"You can have them back any time you want them, you know." America promised. "I'll keep them very safe for you."

"I don't need them anymore, sweetheart." Adele said, a grateful but somehow sympathetic tone in her voice. "I have her with me. In here." she tapped her chest, just above her large bosom. "I see her in Maxon, and I'll see her in that baby. I see her in you, like I said. And I have her in my heart, all the time. I don't need these letters anymore, and if they can be of any use to you, I know she would want you to have them."

America felt tears in her eyes already, and cleared her throat heavily, "Ah hah. This is why you wanted to give it to me before I got into makeup."

"That's right." Adele chuckled. "Would you like me to take that small one off of your hands so that you can have a moment alone with that note?"

"No, thank you." America smiled down at the 'small one' in her arm. Meri's breath was deep, steady, and just loud enough to be reassuring. "She soothes me."

Adele smiled at this. "You're ready, aren't you? For the one in your belly?"

America swallowed heavily. Could anyone ever really be ready for their first baby? "I think so."

Adele leaned in conspiratorially and whispered loudly, "I think so, too." And then she kissed the top of America's head, straightened up, and went back across the room to join America's mom and Silvia in conversation.

America's hand was shaking as she peered at the aged, priceless treasure in her grasp. America turned to ask Mary for a moment alone, but Mary was a step ahead of her, and the moment America looked up at her, Mary set aside the jar of primer she'd been opening and dashed back over to the z-rack of dresses, where she had been before.

Now it was just both Americas, surrounded by a sea of lively conversation, but forsaking all of it for a one-sided conversation with the dead.

_From the desk of the Queen of Ill__é__a,_

_Amberly Station Schreave_

_Dear Adele,_

_By now you__'__ve certainly seen our royal announcement on __'__the _Report_'__, but as I write this letter, I have yet to deliver the soon-to-be famous news. In just a few hours, I__'__ll be on the set, with all of the lights and cameras, and the live audience to worry about. Deley, I swear, I__'__ve never been so anxious about anything in my life. _

_I had a dream about it last night, that I got up in front of the entire country to make__ my __announcement, and they were all in the studio to watch. Every single citizen. And just as I announced that I__'__m pregnant, Dr. Mission came running onto the set and shouted that it was all a mistake, that I wasn__'__t pregnant, that I could never have a baby. They threw me into a dungeon and I had to watch Clarkson marry Nova on television. _

America paused and blinked, stunned. She'd had a similar dream the previous night. America had dreamt that she was standing in front of a large crowd gathered outside the Palace, and in the middle of her speech, which was much longer in the dream, they all started booing and throwing things at her. They didn't want their next leader to be the daughter or son of a Filthy Five. The longer they threw things, the more sinister the crowd turned, until suddenly they were a hoard of violent rebels shooting guns. America had fled the stage to get help from Maxon, but he just stood there, considering whether marrying a Five had been a mistake after all. Then America had tried to find Aspen, hoping he might defend her, but he was kissing Lucy in a corner, and no matter how loudly America had yelled his name, he'd ignored her. That's when real Maxon had woken her gently, asking if she was alright and pressing a string of kisses from her lips down her arm to her fingers, which he fell back asleep still grasping.

Apparently, America wasn't the only Queen to have these anxiety dreams. Maybe this was something that all Queens experienced, like a right of passage. You survive the Selection, you make it through coronation, you perform your civic duty and conceive a child, and then you have some kind of terrifying anxiety dream before announcing your pregnancy to the world. Just thinking about it gave America a sense of kinship, a feeling of belonging. She wasn't alone. If nothing else, Amberly had gone through the same thing. America shifted Meri in her arms and then returned her eyes to the letter.

_Clarkson will be with me, of course. He__'__s has taken most of the burden onto himself and will be speaking for the majority of the episode, to spare me the exertion. Still, the actual announcement must come from the Queen. He__'__s promised to stand right by my side, and he swears he__'__s already proud of me, but in some ways that only makes it worse. I have to prove myself worthy of his pride. I can__'__t let him down after he__'__s shown so much faith in me. _

America blinked, stunned again. It seemed almost impossible that Clarkson and Maxon, as different as night and day, would behave so identically. Maxon had said the exact same thing to her that very morning. He'd said that, no matter how the announcement went, he was already _so_ proud of her. Which had only made worse the faint, lingering sensation of nausea that America had been battling all morning. As Queen of Illéa, she had a lot of choices in her life. But failing Maxon would never be one of them. America kept reading.

_Oh, Adele, I miss you, Mama, Papa, and the others more than I could possibly say right now. I wish you could be here to talk to me today, even if just to distract me with a joke for a few long moments. I__'__m beginning to worry that, even if I do somehow manage to carry this baby to term, it won__'__t know its grandparents very well. Clarkson had such a regimented upbringing, he spent most of his time with tutors and was hardly ever permitted to see Queen Abby__'__s family. That__'__s something I am determined to change, if I__'__m actually fortunate enough to push this baby, alive and screaming, into this world. I__'__m going to devote myself to it. And, even if you__'__re the only one I can convince the Palace to approve for frequent visits, this baby _will _know my family. _

America had always known that she owed Maxon's goodness entirely to Amberly. No part of Maxon that was sweet and generous and kind could possibly have come from the Schreaves. Still, written in letter form, it was even more obvious and America's heart seemed to squeeze tight with gratitude. She'd never have to opportunity to thank this woman for creating Maxon, but that didn't mean that she couldn't be unendingly grateful.

_I keep going over my speech in my head, and I wish you were here to help me with it, Adele. I__'__m so sure that you could offer the right words of encouragement, to help me see things differently. You see, I__'__m about to announce to the world that, quote: __"__King Clarkson and I are so very pleased to announce that we are expecting our first child.__" __It__'__s a lie, of course, and it feels to me like betrayal. We__'__re not expecting our first child, we__'__re expecting our third child. The other two simply didn__'__t make it. I just know you could help me see it another way, if you were here. Every time I get to the part of the speech where I say the words __'__our first child__'__, I feel tears stinging my eyes. It feels like such an insult to those little souls who came into being, lived, and died within me, to pretend they never existed at all. Clarkson pretends that he doesn__'__t understand what I mean when I mention this, but he knows the pain all too well. We__'__ve both lost children to my weak and selfish __body. _

_Anyway, enough of my rambling. I hope you__'__re doing very well. Send everyone my love, and if nothing else, I__'__ll see you at Christmas. I__'__m off to bathe and get ready for the show. And if you wouldn__'__t mind, would you pray for me, and for this baby? We really need this one to survive._

_Love you forever,_

_Amberly_

America just sat there, staring hard at the letter in her hands, overwhelmed. She read it all over again, and then stood and walked over to where Adele was speaking with America's mother.

"Aunt Adele?"

"Did you finish it dear?"

"...If she were here, she wouldn't tell me not to worry, would she?" America asked.

Adele smiled, a bittersweet expression, and then gently shook her head. "I doubt it. It seems to me that you have quite a bit to worry about."

"She'd tell me that worrying is normal, though. That she had a great big stack of worries when she was announcing Maxon, different from mine, but still massive."

"She'd use different words, my dear."

America smiled. She could be Adele's dear. She could live with that. "She'd tell me to lean on my sisters. My family."

"Just as she wished she could." Adele nodded.

"Thank you for this, Adele... I..." Words failed her.

Adele sighed and smiled, then stood and wrapped her in a hug, careful not to disturb little Meri. "You're a keeper, America. I'm so glad Maxon chose you."

"And I'm glad Amberly was able to sneak you into the Palace enough times that Maxon got to know you well. You're a keeper, too." America smiled back.

Adele released her and sniffed a little, fighting back the tears welling in her dark eyes. "You should finish getting ready, we need our queen looking her best today."

"You're right." America agreed.

Adele shooed her away, and rejoined Magda on the sofa. America scanned the room and located Lucy.

Lucy met her eyes after a moment and the two women met in the middle of the room.

"Time for a break?" Lucy asked, softly. She didn't want to disturb Meri.

"I'd hold her all day and all night, but I have to get ready now." America sighed, lightly pressing her lips to the baby's forehead and ghosting a gentle kiss there.

"You're really good with her, do you know that?" Lucy grinned, accepting her bundle of daughter back into her arms.

"That's what I've been told." America smiled, shaking her arms out a little bit and testing their new lightness.

"Hard to believe our baby bumps are almost the same size now." Lucy giggled, looking down between their bellies. Lucy's was rapidly shrinking, and America's was rapidly growing.

"Let's just hope mine disappears as quickly as your has." America said, brushing her fingers over the slight curve of her own midriff.

"Of all the things you have to worry about right now, America Singer." Lucy shook her head, laughing. Lucy had gotten much more comfortable using America's given name since giving her own daughter that same name.

"You're right. I'm getting ahead of myself, aren't I?" America smiled.

Mary came up to them, "I'm sorry your Majesty, but I've got to start on your makeup. We've left it to the last possible minute."

"Thank you, Mary. Let's get to work." America agreed, leaving Lucy and Meri for the other side of the room, where Mary immediately took charge and began the task of getting America 'camera ready'.

The makeup was natural, with an emphasis on luminescence. There were little flakes of glitter in the foundation and the eye shadow. Not enough to be visible, just enough to create a healthy little glow. America's cheeks were rouged a dewey pink and her lips lined, painted, and glossed an enticing shade of coral. America's hair was hot rolled and delicately arranged to cascade down in glossy, red spirals. Neither she nor Maxon were wearing their crowns that day. This was a moment they were sharing with the nation as a young couple, not as King and Queen. At least, that was the strategy Gavril, Stavros, and America had agreed on.

The best part for America was the dress. It was a simple, beautiful dark green. The color was not the best part. The cut was the best part. For two months now, America had been forced to wear loose-fitting, flowing dresses to create the illusion of a baby bump without confirming or denying its existence. Now that the bump was visibly poking out from her usual flat stomach, and now that she was officially announcing her pregnancy, Stavros wanted her back in dresses that hugged her curves. She always felt beautiful when wearing one of Mary's creations, but now she finally felt like herself again, too.

May came over to hover as the finishing touches were added to America's ensemble.

"May, I'm going to need you to be a little less beautiful today, okay?" America winked at her sister, who wore a pale yellow dress with a chiffon skirt that seemed to float rather than hang off of her hips.

"Worried Maxon'll change his mind?" May laughed.

"Worried no one will hear me when I announce the baby because they'll be too busy gaping at you." America corrected. "I really don't want to have to repeat myself."

"Trust me, from the moment they lay eyes on your baby bump, you will have their full and undivided attention." May brushed a hand over America's little bump, her fingers skating over the soft green fabric stretched across the little curve. "I love you so much, Ames."

America blinked and looked over at her sister, surprised. "I love you, too, little monkey."

"Do you... I mean, just... you are the coolest big sister in the world."

From behind her, Kenna's voice, warm and close, said, "I heard that."

"Sorry, Ken." May said as Kenna joined their little three person huddle. Mary went off to gather up America's jewelry for the show. The string of Amberly's pearls that America had been given by Maxon, and a matching set of earrings. Now it was just the three sisters, standing together on this side of the room.

"I forgive you, May. America's the coolest little sister in the world, too." Kenna laughed.

"Guys? That's a lot of pressure." America chuckled. Each of America's sisters wrapped an arm around her back and gave her a reassuring squeeze.

"Everyone's going to be so happy, America." May promised.

"Especially you and Maxon." Kenna reminded her. "You guys are going to be happiest of all."

"We're already pretty happy." America smiled.

"But also nervous." May reminded her.

"And scared." Kenna said. "About the rebels."

"And the amendment."

"We are not _scared_ of the amendment." America corrected.

"Yeah? The thought of the people being so radically opposed to it that they violently depose Maxon and you, it hasn't crossed your mind at all?" May asked, sarcastically.

"Well... once or twice." America confessed.

"It'll get easier, Ames." Kenna breathed. "I promise." she leant her forehead down to touch America's, and then May did the same. They were huddled together, foreheads touching, staring down at America's little bump. "Once you tell them, and you see how happy their reaction is, that worry will be gone."

"And you'll get more confidence about the amendment. If they love your baby so much, surely they'll want it as King or Queen." May added. "And the longer we go without a rebel attack, the safer you'll feel."

"This is the hardest part, Ames. This is the end of 'not knowing'." Kenna said. "Not knowing what the people are going to do or what they'll think. From now on, it won't be guess work. It'll be so much easier."

America was just as surprised as either of her sisters when she heard herself sob heavily. Suddenly, both foreheads were gone from hers as Kenna and May shared a surprised look between themselves. Then they leant in and hugged America tightly to themselves. "Shush." Kenna whispered gently. "Mary will have our heads if you ruin your makeup now."

"I love you guys." America managed. "I didn't mean to cry about it... I'm just so glad you're here. You're making me feel so much better." She didn't say the rest of her thought. That Amberly hadn't had this luxury and that was every bit as devastating as Kenna and May were comforting.

After a moment, May whispered in America's ear. "Hey, Ames. There's someone here to see you."

America pulled back and looked at May, confused, then turned around.

Maxon was grinning at her, smiling from ear to ear. "Wow." he breathed, taking in the sight of her. "It's even better than I'd imagined." Kenna and May took a little step back as Maxon stepped forward and ran his fingers along the faint seam that went down America's right side. "You, my love... are definitely showing." he looked absolutely thrilled about the weight his wife was packing on.

"Yep. No going back now." America agreed, sniffling.

"Were your mean old sisters making you cry?" Maxon chuckled, taking a step closer to her.

"Yeah, but it's okay." America gently dabbed her eyes with the pads of her fingers to get the last of they stray tears off of her face without ruining her eyeliner. "They mean well." America turned back and winked at May, who poked her tongue out a little and then obeyed Kenna's insistent tugging on her arm to go back and join the others. Maxon and America had this moment together.

"You really do look lovely, Ames."

"Thank you, Maxon. You don't look so bad, yourself." she grinned, going on tiptoe to kiss him gently. "Are you ready for this?"

"I am." Maxon nodded. "I just finished talking with August, Carter, and Aspen. They somehow managed to reassure me that you'll be entirely safe for the duration of the announcement."

"Any clues about 'K' yet?"

"Nothing new." Maxon sighed.

"Maybe we really did kill him in the raids." America suggested, running her fingers down his tie and then straightening it, before tucking it back into his jacket.

"I suppose it's not impossible." Maxon didn't seem to believe it. He'd said it just for America.

"Maxon? Let's not worry about 'K' tonight. We'll trust Aspen to take care of that. Tonight, let's just be happy."

Maxon considered her closely. "I _am_ happy."

"Good."

"And I was thinking." He said, wrapping his arms around her lower waist and taking a moment to peer down at the little baby bump. "We could spend an hour on the balcony tonight. If you want to. If that's something that interests you."

America blinked, surprised. Maxon had banned them from the balcony, ever since receiving K's note. He must be in a good mood if he was lifting the ban, even for an hour. "Yes, Maxon." America breathed, leaning up and wrapping her arms around his neck, holding him close to her. She could feel her little belly press against his flat stomach. Maxon smiled at the contact. "Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, _yes_, Maxon." America whispered into his ear, grinning. "Thank you."

This reaction seemed to please him very much. He pressed a kiss to her cheek and then said, "Gavril is ready for us on the set, if you're ready to go."

America faltered. She'd never be ready. Her mouth went dry at the prospect and adrenaline coursed through her veins, seemingly instead of blood. America glanced away from him and incidentally caught Kenna's gaze. She was keeping an eye on America from across the room. At the look on America's face, Kenna gave her an encouraging nod and tilted up her chin, squaring her shoulders, reminding America what to do.

America mimicked her big sister, standing up straight and proud, and the edge instantly disappeared from her anxiety. "Okay. Let's go."

Maxon followed America's gaze to Kenna, smiled between them, and then offered America his arm. "Alright. Let's do this."

Gavril, it turned out, had decided to break out the big couch for this little episode. America wouldn't make her announcement from behind a podium like Amberly had. She'd be sitting with Maxon's arm around her, as she shared their news with the world.

The audience began filing in, and slowly a buzz of excitement started humming from the rows and rows of seats as people began to notice America's little belly. Maxon sat on the couch with America, gently stroking her spine with his fingers, absentmindedly working to soothe her even as he and Gavril discussed the structure of the episode. America thought that, quite possibly, she'd never loved her husband more.

Gavril started the episode off, thanking everyone across Illéa and beyond for tuning in for this special _Report_. Then Maxon took over and updated everyone on the strong state of national affairs. The rebels hadn't been heard from since the raids, and the recovered hostages were healing in the comfort of their own homes.

Then Gavril moved them all over to the couch that America hadn't seen since Gavril had interviewed them about their honeymoon, although she'd really gotten to know it during the Selection.

"Queen America, thank you for joining us over here on the couch." Gavril winked and the audience chuckled, their excitement palpable.

"You're very welcome, Gavril. Is it just me, or is it fluffier than it was during Maxon's Selection?" she teased.

"We've definitely had some royal fluffers on the job, now that you mention it." Gavril chuckled.

"I would expect nothing less from you, Gavril." America teased, and the audience laughed at her implication that Gavril was a little bit spoiled.

"Guilty as charged, Ma'am, I do enjoy the odd luxury now and again." he laughed, too. "Now, your Majesty, I understand that you were the one who asked that this very, very special episode be organized."

"Yes, that's right."

"You even invited the rest of the royal family to pay a visit to our humble television set." Gavril paused and waited as the cameras switched to angles showing the Singers and the Stations.

"I wanted all of our family to be with us as we share our news with the world, Gavril." America said, and her voice came out sounding shy.

"Your news? Another royal initiative?" Gavril pretended, as if he didn't know what this episode was about.

"Something like that." America smiled nervously, and the edge was immediately taken off of her nerves as Maxon slid his hand into her lap and laced his fingers with hers. She could feel his warmth, his body was that close to hers.

"The other initiatives have been great successes so far." Gavril propagandized skillfully. "King Maxon's Southern Cleanup initiative has already created hundreds of jobs and provided our southern provinces with clean water and healthy meals. And your prenatal care initiative just celebrated its largest fundraising month to date, with the help of the generous donations of dozens of your fine dresses." Gavril paused as the studio audience burst into dutiful applause.

America could feel Maxon's warm, sweet breath tickle her neck as he smiled down at her. It was a major distraction, and she was grateful when he returned his gaze to Gavril.

Gavril continued, "Could it possibly be that you're here to announce a brand new royal initiative?"

"Well, Gavril," America squeezed Maxon's hand, her palm sweating from the heat of the lights and the heat of his hand and her nerves. "It's not a social initiative, but I _am_ here to announce a project that will be diverting quite a bit of Maxon's and my efforts."

Gavril pretended to be mildly amused. "Your Majesty? Do you have something you wish to share with us?"

America smiled, hoping it was coming off coy. "I do, as a matter of fact." Just as she and Gavril had arranged it, she turned in her seat to address the camera just over Gavril's shoulder, but the control booth held the wide shot of Gavril, Maxon, and America a moment longer, to allow the entire world a great view of the curve swelling out from the straight line her dresses used to make. A moment later, the red light appeared above the camera over Gavril's shoulder, and it zoomed in on them so that America's face and Maxon's gentle reactions just behind her, could be broadcast in detail.

America took a deep breath, "Gavril, I am so pleased…" she licked her dry lips and felt Maxon's hand squeeze hers reassuringly. He was looking over at her again, she could see his proud expression in the monitor that showed her what the cameras were broadcasting. She took another deep breath and said, "I am so very, very pleased to announce that King Maxon and I are imminently expecting the arrival of our first child in mid-December, just in time for Christmas." The very last syllables were cut off as the studio audience roared their approval, jumping to their feet and cheering. America took the moment to turn to Maxon. He winked down at her and pressed a tiny kiss to her nose for all of Illéa to see. They had Silvia's permission to be a little more affectionate in public whilst America was pregnant. They didn't want Maxon to come across as indifferent toward his pregnant wife.

Maxon leant into America's ear and whispered, so that only she could hear, "That wasn't so bad, was it?"

America turned so that she could whisper right into his ear, "You should answer the next few. Prove you're engaged in this baby making process."

Maxon laughed and leant down to her ear. "I'm _very _engaged in making babies."

America rolled her eyes at his entendre and Maxon squeezed the arm he had around her. Gavril was finally convincing the studio audience to quiet themselves.

"Well, your Majesty!" Gavril pretended to be breathless. "That is quite the announcement! I think it's fairly obvious how thrilled we are for you and for his Majesty."

"Thank you." Maxon said, warmly. Genuinely. He was grateful for the warm wishes of his subjects, and it reminded America of what an amazing man he was. They spent all their time trying to control the people, but somehow Maxon still maintained a love and respect for them, like they were some kind of odd third parent to him. He genuinely appreciated their support, no matter how hard it was to obtain it.

Gavril continued, "Any indication of whether we'll be getting a little prince or a little princess?"

Maxon laughed, his shoulders shaking. "You're getting a little ahead of yourself there, Gavril. It's still too soon for all of that."

"Do you have a preference, your Majesty?" Gavril leaned in a whispered loudly, almost conspiratorially.

America pretended to give Maxon a stern look, as if daring him to declare his preference for a son. Maxon, along with the studio audience, chuckled at them both. Maxon shook his head and answered, "Healthy. Healthy is my preference, Gavril. Healthy is the most important thing. Everything else after that is icing on the cake."

"So it is." Gavril grinned, approvingly. Then he turned to the camera, "Well, folks, you heard it. Illéa is expecting a brand new royal baby, and I don't know about you, but I, for one, couldn't be happier. We'll have many, many updates for you as we make our way anxiously towards… December, wasn't it, your Majesty?" Gavril asked America. Not that he didn't know, full well.

"Mid-December." America nodded, placing the hand she had entangled with Maxon's over her little belly so that their joined hands perched there together.

"Mid-December." Gavril beamed. "I believe I speak for all of Illéa when I offer your Majesties our most heartfelt congratulations."

"Thank you, Gavril." Maxon beamed.

Gavril turned back to address the camera, "Live from Angeles, this is Gavril Fadaye. We'll see you next week on the _Ill__é__a Capital Report_. Good night."

There was a long pause, and the lights shut off. The show was over. Attendants were already seeing to the exit of the excited, energetic audience.

Gavril leaned in to America, "That was flawless, do you know that?"

"Thank you."

"It honestly could not have gone better. Very well done, your Majesty."

"Gavril…" America blushed at the praise, Then leant over and wrapped him in a tight hug. "Thank you." There were a few 'aww's from the exiting audience.

When she released Gavril, she was set upon by her family, then Maxon's family, then Maxon. They had a moment alone amidst the rush of people and America looked into her husband's eyes. "Was it enough?" she asked, softly.

She saw a flicker of doubt flash through his warm brown irises, but a moment later it was gone. "I hope so." he said, warmly, though she thought she could hear uncertainty in his tone. "I really hope so."


	28. Chapter 28

"Do you remember infinite massages?" America asked, all but dragging herself into Maxon's room for the night.

"Of course I do." Maxon followed right behind her, sounding equally weary.

"Now, please." America said, allowing herself to fall back on Maxon's bed, too exhausted to even think about taking her shoes off or changing clothes.

"Now?"

"Massage. Now." America closed her eyes and let her body sink into the mattress.

"Ah." Maxon chuckled, taking her meaning. "I see. What kind of massage? Feet? Shoulders?"

"Yes."

"Neck?"

"All of it."

"You want an 'all of it' massage?" he smirked, kicking off his shoes and leaving them where they lay, in the middle of the floor.

"Mhmmm..." she yawned. She and Maxon had been up since four o'clock in the morning, seeing to Grateful Feast parade preparations. Because of the rebel threats on America's life, they'd decided to stay in the Palace this year. The Parade route would pass right by the front gates, and America and Maxon could wave from a decorative platform on Palace grounds, to close out the enormous extravaganza. It worked out in America's favor, really, because it gave her more time to prepare for the Palace feast.

She and Maxon then proceeded to host the biggest Palace feast of the entire year, and the turnout for the feast was larger than it ever had been in Maxon's lifetime thanks to the excitement about the royal baby. Though it was hard to gauge the mood of the entire country, the people on the Palace guest list were certainly thrilled about the prospect of a little royal baby. Every invitee showed up and brought their families with them, to catch a firsthand glimpse of America and her bump. It was mayhem, and America did it all in heels and a dress.

"Love, why don't I run you a hot bath?" Maxon suggested, leaning against the door to his bathroom.

"If I lay down in that tub, I'll never get out again." America promised. "I ache in places I didn't even know I had."

"A hot shower then. You need to relax those muscles before I massage them."

"And wash this goop out of my hair." America mumbled, already falling asleep. It was an hour until midnight, and in America's opinion, pregnant women had no business being awake so late.

Maxon heaved himself up from the wall and shuffled into the bathroom. A moment later, America clearly heard the sounds of a hot, steamy shower being run. Maxon slid off his jacket and perched next to her on the bed. "You did an amazing job today, America."

"Thanks."

"That was the best feast this palace has seen in years."

"It was good, wasn't it?" America smiled a little, peeking a blue eye open to look at Maxon's smiling face. "I don't think I've ever eaten so much turkey in my life."

"I _know _I haven't. And that glaze on those carrots." Maxon's eyes lost a little bit of focus just thinking about it.

"And we had seventeen different kinds of pie!" America groaned. "I don't know why I felt the need to try some of all of them."

"The baby tricked you into thinking the two of you could handle it."

"That's it." America smirked and nodded. "We have a tricky baby on our hands."

He slipped his hand over hers and gently rubbed his thumb over her palm. "And now we can sleep all day tomorrow. We can just hibernate, and occasionally summon Mary to bring us leftovers."

"Don't even talk aboutfood right now. I honestlymight vomit, and it has nothing to do with morning sickness."

"Steady breaths." Maxon coached, chuckling and pressing a kiss to her temple. "I love seeing you like this. For every day you went to bed hungry, I want to send you to bed stuffed full of sixteen different kinds of pie—"

"_Seventeen_." America lamented.

"Even better." Maxon laughed. "Don't worry, love, tomorrow we'll spend the whole day in bed."

"_I _will. _You_ won't. You promised Gerad a soccer match."

"…Ah. Perhaps he could be persuaded to wait until the afternoon."

"I'm sure. He's got that entire movie theater to keep him occupied."

"He's taken to palace life rather well, hasn't he?"

"Yes. He's a natural, just like May." America sighed, and allowed Maxon to grab her other hand and drag her back to standing. She whimpered a little as the ache in her feet returned, and she leant her head into Maxon's shoulder. "Showers mean standing." she realized.

Maxon chuckled, "Just a quick one. We'll have you in bed in no time, I promise."

"My arms are too tired from waving at that parade for four hours straight. I can't lift them up to get the shampoo in my hair." America groaned.

"The one night you actually need Mary." Maxon laughed.

"Don't laugh at me!"

"I'm not." he promised, though he still seemed amused. "I just love you, that's all. Come on. I'll jump in that shower with you, it'll save time and I can start you off with a scalp massage while I scrub that shampoo into your hair."

"…All I have to do is stand there?" America asked, leaning back and opening her eyes again.

"That's it." Maxon promised.

America sighed and then held her arms out from her body. "Fine. Undress me, servant." and Maxon laughed outright. America was the_ only_ one who _ever_ called the King of Illéa, one of the most powerful men in the world, 'servant'.

America hadn't really expected more than a quick shoulder rub after the shower, as tired as they both were, but Maxon took his time once he realized how much tension she was carrying in her muscles.

"Have you always been this way?" Maxon asked, working a knot out near her shoulder blade.

"Yes." America sighed, but it was hard to tell if she was answering his question or cheering on his massage skills.

Maxon rolled her over on the bed and proceeded with his current obsession, her little belly. She moaned softly as he pressed firmly on the sides of her belly and generated fresh blood flow to the areas he touched. "Yeah?" Maxon replied to the moan.

"Yeah." America sighed.

"You're alright though, aren't you, Ames? I mean, we both overdid it today, but you're alright, aren't you?"

America snapped out of the trance Maxon's hands had put her in. "I'm fine, Maxon. Just tired, that's all." she reassured him, clearly seeing the hint of anxiety in his eyes.

"Tomorrow's Friday, you should go see Dr. Ashlar—"

"Dr. Ashlar will be with his family tomorrow, Maxon, and so will I. I have an appointment with him for Sunday, that'll be fine."

Maxon considered this as he continued to knead her stomach, finally deciding that waiting until Sunday would be acceptable. His hands slowed and then stopped, and he stretched out beside her in the enormous, soft bed. "Feeling better?" he asked.

"Much, much better. Whole worlds better." America smiled, running a hand through his golden hair and pulling him in for a kiss. "Thank you. I've never had a calf massage before, I had no idea it would feel so good."

"Your calves were really sore tonight." Maxon shrugged.

"From wearing those heels all day." America said, with a little shudder.

Maxon frowned and pecked her lips. "Don't wear heels anymore."

"What kind of queen would I be if I didn't wear heels?" America grinned.

"A comfortable one." Maxon suggested, before snuggling in next to America, pressing his face into the crook of her neck so that his breath puffed warmly onto her collarbone.

For a moment, Maxon thought America had drifted off to sleep, so still and quiet was she. But then she mumbled, "Nervous about Monday?"

"A little." Monday was their next big war council meeting for the amendment. Stavros would have brand new polling data, taken after the baby was announced. They'd find out if they'd handled the baby announcement correctly by how high Maxon's approval ratings had climbed. If they did it right, they'd be in a good place to keep climbing. If they'd botched it, the amendment would be all but impossible to enact.

"Me, too."

"Even if… even if it all falls apart, Ames, you know I'd never marry our daughter off, don't you?"

America smiled sleepily. "Of course I do."

"The amendment is preferable, but even without it, so long as we have a healthy baby… we'll figure the rest out."

"Exactly." America agreed.

"…But I'm still nervous."

"I know. So am I."

They fell into silence again, and this time it was Maxon whose breath fell steady and rhythmic, almost lulling America to sleep before he said, suddenly, "How do you feel about 'Maisy'?"

"…Who's Maisy?"

"No one, yet. I've been brainstorming baby names."

"You have?"

"Just in my spare time."

America laughed, "What spare time?"

"Well… maybe I haven't been paying the closest attention possible at my budget meetings lately…"

"Understandable. Jepsen always finds a way to be somehow both unbearable and unbearably boring at the same time."

"Leave Jepsen alone." Maxon smirked.

"Fine."

"So, what do you think? 'Maisy'? I'd call her 'Maisy-Daisy'."

"'Maisy'." America tasted the name on her lips, and it conjured up a distinct image for her. "I see… your blonde hair, but my curls…"

"Your eyes. Or maybe your father's." Maxon nodded.

"Your smile. And _terrible _laugh."

"But when she does it, it's in a wheezy little girl voice." Maxon grinned, radiantly happy at the thought.

"Ribbons?"

"Lots."

"I see them, too." America smiled. "'Maisy'. I don't know, Maxon…"

"Maisy and Maxon! Now that sounds good together." Maxon grinned. "Maisy, Maxon, and Ames."

"Maisy, Max, and Mer." America suggested.

"Yeah." Maxon sighed. "That one."

"I don't know if it's a good name for a queen, though. It's kind of… girlish."

"Queen Maisy of Illéa… I like it. Maisy Schreave."

America considered it. "I don't know… it just doesn't feel like a 'Maisy'."

"No? Well, maybe it's a boy." Maxon suggested. "Jameson?"

"…Jameson." America tried it, again tasting it and seeing what she found there. "Prince Jameson… _King _Jameson."

"Jameson Schreave." Maxon said. "'James', or maybe 'Jame' for short."

"What's it mean?"

Maxon laughed, "Why would you think that I know what it means?"

"Because you like spending your time in that library almost as much as I do." America smiled, tilting her chin down so that her nose could rest against his.

"It means 'replacement'." Maxon conceded.

"That's a little on the nose, isn't it?" America laughed.

"I don't like it because of what it means!" Maxon laughed, too. "I think it has a nice ring to it. Commanding. Strong."

"So you want your boys commanding and strong but your girls all ribbons and wheezy giggles?" America asked, eyebrow arching.

"You're the one who brought up ribbons."

"You know what I mean."

Maxon frowned. "We don't know. Maisy could grow up to abdicate her throne in favor of spending her life as a military general."

"General Maisy-Daisy?" America asked, skeptically.

"Fine." Maxon frowned, bordering on pouting. "We won't name her 'Maisy'."

"Aw, Maxon." America smiled over at him. "I like the name. I really do. But not for our firstborn. I tell you what, we will name our daughter 'Maisy' at the earliest possible convenience. Just not first."

"So if that's Jameson in there," Maxon tapped her little belly, pout disappearing from his lips, "Then our next baby could be Maisy?"

"Mhmm."

"But you like 'Jameson'?"

"We'll add it to the short-list." America smiled.

"Baby Jamesy." Maxon grinned. "Too bad we're not having twins. We could have Maisy and Jamesy."

America rolled her eyes, "In that case, it's probably very good that we're not having twins. They'd hate rhyming like that."

"How do you know?"

"I had to deal with Kenna and Kota, growing up. It was enough of a trial and all they had to share was a letter."

Maxon blinked, letting his long lashes brush her cheek. "Have you heard from Kota, love?" he asked, softly. Gently.

"Nothing." America frowned.

"I'd thought, after he found out about the baby—"

"He doesn't care, Maxon."

"I'm sure that's not true."

"He tried to destroy my engagement to you before we were even engaged!"

"I know. But… he had a lot going on at the time, dealing with feelings of jealousy and grief and fear…"

"I don't believe that."

Maxon sighed, "Alright, fine."

"And even if it were true, it wouldn't excuse what he did."

"Fine, America. It's fine." he said, soothingly.

"I mean, obviously I miss him, but he's the one who separated himself from the rest of our family. So now I have Aspen. And Aspen's all I need."

"_All_?" Maxon smiled.

"Well… he's all the big brother I need." America amended.

Maxon pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Alright then."

America wiggled down into the bed, sinking down past Maxon and then rolling over to rest her head on his chest. His steady heartbeat thudded pleasantly in her ear. "I love you." America said, knowing her breath was blowing a warm trail across his bare chest.

"I love you, too, America." he said, running his fingers through her damp hair.

"I hate saying 'goodnight' to you. Isn't that what I married you for, so we wouldn't ever have to say 'goodnight'?" America mumbled, closing her heavy eyes. "'Goodnights' are for the Selected. Not for the Queen."

"Then don't say 'goodnight' to me." Maxon suggested, lacing the fingers of his free hand through hers. "I'd hate for you to stoop below your station."

America sighed, contentedly, and lifted their hands to her cheek, depositing his hand there, and then lowering hers to rest against his chest.

He took this as his cue to gently stroke her cheek with his thumb, and this time when her breathing steadied out, America was fast asleep.


	29. Chapter 29

"The purpose of this meeting is to outline a unilateral course of action, coordinated between the King's office and the Queen's office, for the next three months of the Queen's pregnancy following the public announcement of the royal baby and leading up to the official, public submission of the proposal for amendment S-19, the amendment to the laws of inheritance, that will bolster and elevate the King's and Queen's joint approval ratings, in addition to improving potential public support for the aforementioned proposed amendment, with specific regards to equating hereditary princes and hereditary princesses in duty and privilege. Castor, read that back."

America felt her eyes glaze over, but was powerless to stop it, as Castor dutifully repeated Stavros' very official, very boring little introduction to their meeting. She was entering a phase of pregnancy where her brain didn't always obey its own commands to pay attention. Earlier that day, she'd forgotten that she was holding her notebook in her hand, and Silvia's smile had been a little too good-natured and understanding when America had asked the older woman where it was. Marlee called it 'pregnancy brain', and claimed no one had ever suffered more comically than she had when she'd been carrying Kile. America fully expected to have given her a run for her money by the time this baby came in December.

Maxon's voice brought America's roaming mind back to conference room A.

"Before we address anything else," Maxon began, looking all around the enormous table at the attentive, serious faces staring back at him, "I want to find out where we stand on 'K'."

America had to force herself to keep from rolling her eyes. All weekend long they'd been dreading this meeting, anxious and afraid of what they'd find out once Stavros presented them with new polling numbers. 'K' was honestly the least of America's concerns right now, and Maxon's obsession with the threatening note he kept in his pocket at all times was bordering on ridiculous, in America's opinion. There were currently three people in her marriage: herself, Maxon, and 'K'. If 'K's objective had been to distract Maxon to the point that he couldn't focus on anyone or anything else, it had all but worked.

"Of course, your Majesty." August replied, and shared a look across the table with Aspen, as a man America didn't know, sitting next to August, handed him a piece of paper. America glanced a few seats down at Georgia to see if she could gain any insight into what August was thinking via his wife. All of America's council was present at today's meeting, Georgia, Marlee, Silvia, and Mary. After all, America wasn't about to go into another major meeting about the amendment without backup.

Georgia was watching her husband closely from her seat between Marlee and a supremely uncomfortable Mary, but when she glanced at America she just shrugged a little and shook her head. She had no idea what was coming.

"Our British friends have been doing some background research on the man in the hostage videos, the man who carried out the executions." August said. "We think he'll lead us to 'K', and might even be 'K', himself. Anyone who feels comfortable enough to leave a personal note in the Queen's bedroom would have to be high up in the ranks."

"Maybe he was rogue?" Maxon suggested, hopefully. "Or she. Whoever 'K' is might have stepped above rank to leave that threat."

Aspen shook his head grimly, "We think this is someone who feels comfortable speaking for the Southern rebels. That would indicate someone higher up in the ranks."

"Why do you think that?" Maxon asked, carefully guarding his disappointment. It was so much less threatening if the note had been left by one rogue guy who thought he was more powerful than he really was. It was much worse if the note came from someone who spoke for the southern rebels, someone with actual power.

August answered the question, "A slip of phrasing in the threat, your Majesty. Sandwiched in between the phrases 'If_ I _see your wife,_ I_ will kill her', and 'If _I_see your wife,_ I'll _just kill her' is a different indirect object."

Maxon winced terribly as August quoted the threat, and then he frowned at the blank notepad in front of him, one finger absentmindedly brushing the pocket in his lap that contained the note in question. Maxon supplied, "It says 'we'. 'You have nothing _we_ want.' Right in between those threats."

Aspen nodded gravely, "Our English friends think this indicates that he feels comfortable speaking for the rebels as a group. He switched into it seamlessly. He didn't say that you have nothing _he_ wants, and he didn't say that you have nothing he _o__r_ the rebels want. In this person's mind, they're one and the same. We think this indicates seniority."

Maxon sighed. "Our spies in the rebel ranks?"

"They have hunches." August said. "Nothing verifiable enough to present it here."

"This narrows the search down tremendously, your majesty." Aspen said, sympathetically. "It's good groundwork to continue our search. I consider this solid progress."

"Alright then." Maxon sighed heavily. "Thank you." He looked terribly unhappy, and America slipped her hand under the table and onto his knee, giving it a gentle squeeze. They were up on the little platform again so that their chairs rose a couple of inches above everyone else's, but America didn't think anyone could see the gesture. Maxon slid his hand down over hers and squeezed it back. He did not let it go.

After a few moments of heavy silence, America took over for her distracted husband. "Stavros? Let's get started."

"Yes, your Majesty." Stavros agreed. There was a ripple in the room as everyone shuffled papers and sat up a little straighter. "Evander from the research department has updated polling statistics that we need to review before determining the specifics of our unilateral course of action. Evander?"

America remembered this balding, red-haired man from the last meeting of The Council. He'd been so nervous then, as he read his figures and explained their meaning. He seemed less nervous this time, though he was still a little shaky. "Thank you, Stavros." Evander nervously cleared his throat and adjusted his glasses. "At our last meeting, approval for Queen America rested firmly at 64% averaged amongst all castes. In light of the huge success of the Grateful Feast Parade, and most importantly, the expertly managed reveal of her pregnancy, approval for the Queen has risen 15 points, and now sits squarely at 79% averaged amongst all castes. We expect this number to continue to rise as, believe it or not, her belly grows." Evander shook his head, smiling at that note, and then lifted his eyes to America. They'd never exchanged a single word between them outside of meetings, and barely a handful of words in the meetings, but Evander and America had carried out whole conversations worth of looks across the long table. Raised eyebrows in exasperation at something Jepsen said or bitten lips trying to keep from laughing as Stavros tried not to lose his temper and threaten to put them all in time-out like the disobedient children they really were. This time America winked at him and then leant back in her chair so that her little belly seemed to puff out, extra big, in front of her. This amused Evander, as he removed his glasses and cleaned them on his tie.

"That's wonderful news." Maxon said, looking down at America's aforementioned belly. "She's tiny, our Queen, so Dr. Ashlar expects her belly to grow quite large in comparison. That'll be great for polling numbers. She'll be enormous, gargantuan, the first Queen in history to have 115% approval."

"Shut. Up." America glared at his teasing, but was unable to bite back a smile. There were chuckles all down the table, although Silvia cleared her throat pointedly. America supposed Queens weren't supposed to tell Kings to shut up during council meetings.

Maxon lifted their joined hands from his knee and brought her knuckles to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to them in apology, then he rested their hands on the arm of his chair and said, "Continue, Evander."

"Well, all of the numbers are wonderful for her Majesty, but the most promising improvement is her approval with Twos. It jumped from 55% to 70%. We think this has a lot to do with the social changes she's implemented in the last few weeks. Twos are aware that she isn't pushing for educational reform right now, and they feel their way of life is less threatened. Her public appearances have been on message and on point, and they frankly had a lot of fun guessing about her pregnancy."

America thought it was a high price to pay, giving up education and clinics in exchange for these numbers, but she was glad that, if she had to give up education and clinics, at least it was working. "Evander, what are my numbers amongst Fives?" America asked, biting back a smug smile. Fives were always her strength, her highest numbers.

Evander smiled, too. "92%, up from 70%."

America laughed at how absurdly high this number was. She knew these were the highest numbers she'd ever know in her lifetime, because there was only one 'first royal baby' for Maxon and her, but it was still fun to hear.

"So," Maxon said, also grinning, "The Two's, our toughest critics, now approve of America exactly as much as the Five's, our biggest fans, did only three months ago? That's how much ground we've reclaimed with them?"

"Yes, your Majesty." Evander confirmed.

"Wow, Ames, we need to have babies more often." Maxon shook his head, taking it all in.

Gavril spoke up, "Apologies for the interruption, Evander," Evander waved away the apology and Gavril continued, "In light of the Queen's wild, unprecedented popularity, I would like to suggest resuming some form of carefully curated public schedule. She's safer now, with nearly 8 out of every 10 people adoring her, than she will be at any other time in her reign. We won't send her far, and we'll send her with the best security we have. It'll show the rebels that we are still in charge, they can't control us with fear, it'll give people more of that baby bump they crave so much," Gavril winked at America, "And it will give our Queen an excellent opportunity to be amongst her people."

Silvia spoke up, in a no-nonsense tone that America was proud of. Some of Maxon's advisers were still under the impression that the Queen's council had no right to be at this meeting. Silvia's posture, tone, and manner made it perfectly clear that she more than belonged in the chair to the right of the Queen of Illéa. "All of Queen America's scheduling decisions filter through me, Adviser Fadaye, as you well know." There was a playful glint in her eye as she met Gavril's down the table. "The Queen's schedule has very little flexibility in it, between her duties at the Palace and her prenatal obligations. Dr. Ashlar is insistent that she sleep for nine hours every night, and that there be time in the afternoons, if not for a nap, then for a break. Any such excursions would have to tuck in nicely between medical examinations, the day-to-day management of this palace, and her duties to her country."

"I well understand the demands on her Majesty's time, I assure you." Gavril grinned, amused. "I would never attempt to schedule anything without your approval, and I would never jeopardize the health of our little heir by giving her Majesty more than she can handle."

"Hmph." Silvia said, and America smiled at the overprotective tone in her protocol expert's voice. "I'll be the judge of that."

"_I__'__ll _be the judge of that." America laughed, and then intervened to save them all some time. "Gavril, proposals for public events to Silvia?" Gavril nodded. "Silvia, final list to Maxon?" Silvia bowed her head in agreement. "Maxon, final approval?"

Maxon almost couldn't believe the gift she was offering him, if the look on his face was any indication. Final approval on her public schedule for the next three months. It wasn't absolute control over her, but it would allow him to have a firm hand in keeping her and the baby safe, and help him feel apart of things. It would make her leaving the Palace so much easier on him. "Yes, America." he breathed, looking over at her, gratefulness bordering on reverence all over his expression. "Thank you."

"Very good. I agree with your proposal, Adviser Fadaye. Stavros? Shall we continue?"

"Yes, your Majesty." Stavros was battling a distinctly impressed smile when he returned his gaze to Evander. "You have more statistics for us?"

"I do, sir."

"Continue."

"King Maxon, throughout your reign your numbers have come in consistently in the low 50's. In light of the rebel hostage broadcast and the crisis that followed, your numbers have temporarily fallen. You now sit at 47%." Maxon frowned deeply. "We believe that, as time passes, your numbers will rise, and it is particularly good news that the rebel bombings you ordered and executed were viewed as decisive and strong leadership on your part. That will lead to even stronger numbers as the shock and fear that gripped the nation slowly ebbs away."

Maxon shook his head, disbelieving, "But I tabled my international summit. I unveiled the Southern Cleanup Initiative—"

"People are highly in favor of your Southern Cleanup Initiative, and the approval ratings on that project, combined with your food assistance program, give every indication that in the proceeding months, your numbers will surge. We project you at 57%, if nothing else changes."

"Will something change?" Maxon asked, bleakly.

"A lot can happen in three months, your Majesty." Stavros supplied. They were all thinking the same thing. If the rebels executed another major attack, it could set them back even further. "We'll be making every effort to get you in good graces with the people, and that will help."

"Fine." Maxon allowed, unhappily. "Our combined numbers, Evander?"

America gulped. Here were the only numbers that truly mattered. It helped that people liked her, and it would help if people liked Maxon, but all that really mattered to get this amendment safely passed, according to Stavros, was for people to like Maxon and America as a team.

"The combined approval rating for King Maxon and Queen America, averaged amongst all castes, now sits securely at 60%, up from 56%."

America blinked, slowly, willing herself to stay calm. They only rose four points? They'd moved mountains over the last few months to try to win favor with the people, and while it was great that everyone liked her, none of it mattered if she and Maxon couldn't raise that 60% to a 75% joint approval rating. And now they'd played the best card in their hand, the baby. This was the biggest leap they could reasonably expect for their joint approval numbers, the excitement surrounding a new baby, and all they'd gotten from it was four lousy points?

"Again," Evander said, sensing the palpable disappointment in the room, "These numbers are dampened by the events surrounding the rebel hostage crisis. They'll bounce back, and surge higher than ever, as people take time to mourn and process the national grief surrounding the losses of those hostages."

Stavros took a long drink of water, wiped a hand over his face, and then said, "Thank you, Evander." His tone didn't say 'thank you', though. His tone said, 'we're screwed'. He turned his gaze down to the rest of the table and continued with the official script he had to recite at all of these meetings. "As a reminder, our goal is to have 75% joint approval for their Majesties by December, and to, as much as possible in that time frame, improve support for aspects of the amendment, such as allowing for a princess to succeed the King over a prince, and dissolving the requirement that a princess forge foreign diplomatic alliances with her marriage. Castor, read that back."

America shared a dark look with Maxon as Castor read back Stavros' familiar quote.

Maxon's brown eyes swore up and down to her that he'd make this right. That he'd do everything in his power to get their numbers up, and they'd have that 75% if it was the last thing he ever did. America just couldn't quite imagine it was possible anymore.

Even if they jumped another, _enormous _four joint points in the next three months, they'd only be at 64%. And if they somehow, _somehow _managed to do it again in the months after that, they'd cap out at 68%. It would take an act of God to get to 75% in time to pass the law before the baby was born.

America nodded and smiled bravely at Maxon, who gave her hand a squeeze. They couldn't give up. They'd come too far, sacrificed too much, and their baby needed this from them. America reminded herself firmly of all the times she'd overcome worse odds in her life. The odds of being chosen for Maxon's Selection. The odds of Maxon choosing her once she was in his Selection. The odds of Maxon surviving the bullet wound to his chest that ended his Selection. Somehow, passing this amendment now felt like the most improbable yet.


	30. Chapter 30

"Ames?"

"Hm?"

"I don't think the baby wants to go into town today."

America peeked a blue eye open lazily and found Maxon, farther down the bed, with his nose all but touching her bare belly button. These days when he pushed her shirt up in the early hours of the morning, he was only ever interested in one thing.

"Really?" She asked, amused.

"Yeah, the baby definitely wants to stay with me and clean camera lenses today."

"I don't think the baby likes the smell of that lens cleaner you use." America wrinkled her nose at the memory of the smell, which had caused her stomach to churn unhappily the night before when she'd found Maxon cleaning a long lens before bed.

"Well... We could do something else today." Maxon offered. He'd been trying for the last three days to convince America to cancel her trip into Angeles. This was his last ditch effort.

"That's very tempting, Maxon." America said soothingly.

"The baby is tempted?"

"Very. But the baby and I need to go to town and get photographed shopping today. It's good for our all of our approval numbers."

Maxon sighed heavily, "I know, I just don't think the baby wants to. It wants to go swimming instead."

"Swimming?"

"Yeah, or have a picnic in the garden." He peeked up at her at this offer.

America groaned and rolled her eyes, "That's just not fair, Maxon. You only seem to offer me garden picnics when you know I can't accept."

Maxon lowered his face so that his nose finally touched her little belly and then he said, "Sorry. We'll have a real garden picnic soon. I just wanted to see if you'd cancel your trip for one."

"I'm going to be_ fine_, Maxon." America assured him. Today wasn't just her first time leaving the Palace since receiving K's threatening note, it would also be the longest consecutive time Maxon would have to go without being able to physically set eyes on America in weeks. Maxon was really worried, and not even trying to hide it. "Aspen is going to be by my side the whole time. And the people of Angeles adore us, there are next to no southern rebel holdouts here." She leant up to press a kiss to his temple, then collapsed back down on her pillow.

"All it takes is one." Maxon grumbled, lightly rubbing his cheek on her belly. It was a habit he'd gotten into these last few weeks, but if he kept it up, one of these days he was going to get punched in the face by his own heir. America supposed they were still a couple of months away from a kicking, punching baby, though.

"It takes more than one rebel to get past Aspen, and you know it." America reminded him sharply.

"You've been shot in Angeles before." He said, darkly. "And Aspen was standing right there."

"That was different. We were hiding from a king, then. We didn't have the full resources of the Palace guard. There were more rebels back then, too. The odds were against us. This time, we have the odds working in our favor."

Maxon sighed again, but she knew he accepted her argument. He pressed an ear to her belly, "What's that, baby? You want to stay home and watch an action movie with Daddy?"

"Sorry, baby." America smirked. "We've got a royal responsibility to go shopping with Aunt May today." Maxon groaned unhappily and collapsed his face against her belly in surrender. He wasn't going to win this round.

May, for her part, more than matched Maxon's dread with her own enthusiasm. It had been a long time since America and May had gotten a day to spend together, just them. Sure, this had come about because of May's overwhelming popularity and how good it would look to see a pregnant America out with her beautiful and beloved younger sister, but May didn't care that they only got this day because of the optics. She was just happy to have it.

There were two other little shoppers joining them on their journey, Stavros' granddaughters, twelve-year-old Makayla and eight-year-old Cathryn, whom America had met at the Palace Egg Roll and promised a shopping trip into the city. The moment Gavril pitched this trip to Silvia for approval, America began lobbying to have the girls accompany them. They'd look good on camera, those two adorable little girls, and they'd have a lot of fun. Stavros had been difficult to convince, but Maxon intervened. 'If it is safe enough for my wife and unborn baby, then surely it is safe enough for your grandchildren?', Maxon had been secretly hoping that this argument would lead to Stavros calling the whole thing off. No such luck, however, instead Maxon only managed to put to rest any of Stavros' objections. Still, the older man was visibly nervous.

America met with Stavros downstairs while waiting for May to finish getting ready and join them.

"You look worried, Stavros." America smiled gently, adjusting the airy green dress Mary had put her in for the day. Angeles was in the middle of a heatwave, and this dress would repel sweat while hugging her cute little baby bump. The people would have photographs of a sweat-less, adorably pregnant queen, which was an image America wanted them to hold onto, because soon there would be nothing adorable or little about her baby bump.

"The girls are really looking forward to this, your Majesty, it's all they've been talking about since you invited them."

"I'm going to take care of them, Stavros. We're going to eat the bakery out of cookies and buy all the dresses in Angeles. And we'll be back in time for dinner."

"Our family is so grateful to you, your Majesty-"

"Stavros." America said reproachfully, offering him a welcoming smile. "Tell me what you're really thinking."

"We still don't have eyes on K. We should have been able to find him by now. His Majesty, the King of England's Secret Service is the greatest espionage agency in the history of the world, and even with their help, we're all still sitting around, baffled."

"You are _not_ sitting around." America objected. "You're working tirelessly to find him and bring him to justice."

"His threat against you is unlike anything we've encountered before. No demands, no explicit warning. Just a friendly little notice..." Stavros shook his head, "I know you think his Majesty is overly concerned, but I don't know that King Maxon's response isn't exactly right."

America sighed, "Do you want to keep the girls here? We could leave them to play with Gerad and Astra, they might like that. Gerad would have a mad crush on Makayla by the end of it."

Stavros chuckled. "Makayla could do a lot worse than Mister Gerad. That being said, I made a solemn vow on the day my granddaughter was born to chase any and all boys away from her, with a baseball bat if necessary."

America smiled and rested a hand on her tummy, "If this one is a girl, I might employ your services for her, too."

"That's already my plan, your Majesty." Stavros winked.

"What an interesting Selection that would be." America laughed. "35 young men arrive from all over the country and are attacked, on setting foot in the Palace, by the King's top adviser wielding a bat and a righteous sense of grandfatherly protectiveness."

"Gavril could make quite a _Report_ episode out of that."

America and Stavros both had a laugh imagining that violent episode being beamed into households all across Illéa.

"I suppose," Stavros sighed, "I need to learn to be less protective of them. They idolize you and Lady May, and not every little girl gets a shopping trip with her idols."

"They don't_ have_ to go with us, Stavros, I was only trying to keep my promise to them when I invited them. When May and I get back, we could take them out for a picnic in the gardens or a swim in the pool. They'd still have fun."

"No." Stavros shook his head, grimily. "These rebels can't dictate how we live our lives. And they're going out with the best this Palace has to offer."

"Aspen is going to keep us all more than safe."

"I was actually referring to yourself, your Majesty." Stavros joked.

"Don't let Maxon know you have a new favorite, he'll be heartbroken."

"A new favorite what?" Maxon's voice called out behind them. America turned to see him straightening the cuffs of his jacket and smiling at her as he bounded down the stairs to see America off.

"Favorite royal." America grinned, playfully.

"Your Majesty, wasn't the object _not_ to let his Majesty find out?" Stavros chuckled.

"Yeah, but I'm allowed to break his heart." America said, taking Maxon's hand in hers as he approached. "I'm allowed to break it a thousand times." She met Maxon's eyes and they sparkled back at her, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips at her words.

"That wasn't exactly an invitation, Ames." he said, faintly. He was still lost in the memory of the day he almost died, the day he realized that he'd_ rather _die than see America suffer.

"You were so worried about me falling in love with someone else and leaving the Selection." America pretended to scoff. "You should have known my plan was to marry you real hard, then become everyone's favorite royal and beat you at your own game."

"You really think you can hold on to the title of 'everyone's favorite royal' when that baby gets here?" Maxon asked, dubiously. "You're cute, Ames, but I don't know if you're_ that_ cute."

"I can take the competition. People adore me. I can win over anyone. I even won over Celeste, in the end."

"You never won over my father." Maxon pointed out.

"I would have, eventually."

Maxon laughed outright, "No, you would not have."

"I'd have invited him for tea and we'd have had a long talk and respectfully aired out our differences and... stop laughing." Not even America could take her words seriously.

Maxon's whole body seemed to shake with mirth, "I love you." he finally said, peering over at her affectionately.

The look of adoration he was giving her brought a blush to her cheeks. "Yeah, I know."

May appeared at the top of the steps in a gorgeous royal blue sundress that fell just below her knees. "Sorry I'm late! Sorry." she hurried, her matching blue pumps quickly fluttering down the steps. "Mary was putting the finishing touches on this dress for me." She boasted. "I'm so popular, _your _maids are making _me_ clothes, Ames."

"Uh-oh." Maxon chuckled, at the faux-outraged look on America's face. "So much for being the favorite royal."

"She's not royal." America feigned. "She's just my dumb sister."

May laughed, "Are we ready to go? Where are the kiddos?"

"Silvia's debriefing them on how they are expected to behave." America rolled her eyes.

"They're usually hooligans, that's why it's taking so long." Stavros joked.

"She did that with me this morning after breakfast." May nodded, understandingly. "I mean, I've been faithfully representing the royal family since the two of you got engaged," May said to Maxon and America, "And I still got a quick protocol rundown and the 'expected decorum' talk."

"It's her job." America said, shaking her head. "And she takes it _very_ seriously."

"If she didn't, no one would." Maxon said. "And then where would we be?"

"Probably at the bakery already." America said, holding up Maxon's wrist to check the time on his watch. They were running fifteen minutes behind. "I hope she doesn't scare the girls too badly."

"I think spending the afternoon with yourself and Lady May will more than make it up to them, your Majesty." Stavros assured her.

As if on cue, Silvia appeared from the receiving room next to the main entryway, two nervous, shy little girls in tow. Makayla was wearing a white dress covered in lace sunflowers, with a large ribbon at the waist. She had a matching white ribbon at the end of her long braid. Little Cathryn wore a pink dress with cap sleeves and her hair tied in two perfectly identical braids tied off with white ribbons, the same as her sister's.

"They are ready to go, your Majesties." Silvia said, falling into a curtsey. Makayla gulped nervously and then elbowed Cathryn. They both imitated Silvia, wobbling down into little curtsies.

"Thank you, Silvia." America said, and Silvia rose and approached the huddle. "Would you do some more work on Gavril while I'm gone?" America asked, softly.

"Regarding which project, your Majesty?" Silvia asked.

"Rolph Lemex. I understand that Gavril wants our first interview after announcing the baby to be on the _Report_ but we need to find a way to give some access to Illéa's first free reporter."

"Of course, your Majesty." Silvia nodded.

America turned to the girls to find Stavros hugging them goodbye. "May?"

"Hm?"

"I'm going to kiss Maxon goodbye now, you might want to start making your way towards the door."

May laughed and nodded, and Silvia dismissed herself from the huddle as well, leaving only Maxon and America. Maxon wrapped his arms firmly around her waist.

"Be careful." There was a desperation to this request that broke America's heart.

"I will. I promise." America rested her cheek against his chest for a moment. She waited until she could hear his heart beating through his shirt and jacket, and she noticed that it was racing with anxiety. "You and Stavros go get some work done, and we'll see you at dinner, okay?"

Maxon hugged her tightly, for a long time. There was a moment when America thought he wouldn't let her go again, but then he leant down to her ear. "I love you."

"I love you, too." America said, leaning her head up and pressing her lips to his. It was a chaste kiss, but it lasted as long as they dared to let it.

Finally, Maxon sighed and released her, leaning down to be eye level with her stomach. "Goodbye, baby. Sorry Mommy's making you go shopping today. We'll stay home and watch an action movie next time."

"The Mad King Maxon," America pretended to recite, as if from an as-yet-unwritten history book, as she walked away, "so named because he insisted on speaking to his unborn child as if it could understand him and talk back to him through the Most Beloved, Most Wonderful Queen of All Time, America's belly." America heard Maxon laugh behind her, and she also heard two little laughs from up ahead of her. Makayla and Cathryn were clutching Stavros' hands like lifelines, but they were smiling as they watched her approach.

On seeing her make to leave, the guards posted at the entryway stepped forward and swung the doors wide open. No matter how long America was Queen, it was hard to get used to doors flying open at the merest hint of her approach. May looped her arm through America's and Cathryn and Makayla mimicked them, following behind like little shadows.

Up ahead, in the bright sunlight, Aspen stood next to the idling black car marked with the seal of the Palace. He smiled broadly as America approached and he opened the car door for her.

"You've been reduced to chauffeur status today?" America asked, amused, meeting his green eyes which sparkled dazzlingly in the summer sun.

"The things I do for you." he laughed, waiting for all four of them to duck into the car before following them in and closing the door behind him. He spoke into his earpiece for a moment, giving coded commands, and the car began to move.

"Have you ever ridden in a car before?" May asked the girls. They were seated on cool leather seats facing Aspen, May, and America, a distinctly nervous look in their eyes.

Makayla nodded, shyly. "We get a car when Grandfather takes us to events at the Palace."

"Is that car like this one?" America asked.

"A bit different, your Majesty." Makayla answered again. Cathryn simply gaped at them, apparently horrified at what she and her sister had gotten themselves into.

"This is my favorite kind of car." America said, smiling over at the girls. "Because this car comes with lemonade." Both girls tilted their heads to the side wearing identical looks of consternation as if they surely must have misunderstood her. America lifted a handle under the window and what once had appeared to be an arm rest was now clearly a cooler filled with ice and glass bottles of lemonade. "Who wants some?" America asked. Everyone but Aspen, it turned out.

Makayla and Cathryn seemed much calmer with their little mouths full of lemonade, and they listened eagerly as May updated America on the woeful state of her relationship with 'Jax'. May had begun to fear that Jax was perhaps not meant to be her lifelong companion. It took everything she had, but America did _not _mention the words 'I', 'told', 'you' or 'so'. She merely nodded sympathetically and promised to have the chef mix an extra batch of salted caramel brownie batter ice cream when May was finally ready to officially call it quits.

By the time the bottles of lemonade were downed, the car was slowing to a leisurely roll as it approached the first stop on their journey, a locally owned bakery which had been in the same family since the founding of Illéa.

"There's going to be a short rope line." Aspen briefed them. "Ames, you stay with me."

"Right." America nodded.

"You've got three minutes to sign autographs and take pictures and then I want you inside." Aspen instructed.

Cathryn's jaw hung open a little bit.

"What is it, sweetheart?" America asked, trying not to laugh at the expression on the little girl's face.

"Aren't you the queen, your Majesty?" Cathryn asked, stunned.

"Yes, I am."

"Why is he bossing you around like that?" she seemed worried. Like maybe there was some kind of governmental coup happening right before her eyes. Next to her, Makayla couldn't stop herself from rolling her eyes at her dumb little sister.

America did laugh this time, "I may be the Queen, but _he's_ the boss today. His name is Aspen, and I've known him since I was barely older than Makayla."

"You're from Carolina?" Makayla asked Aspen, astutely.

"Yes, ma'am, I am." Aspen replied, sharing an amused look with America. Makayla blushed a little at being called 'ma'am' by a uniformed officer who was allowed to boss around the Queen of Illéa.

"If anything bad happens today, look for Aspen. He'll tell you what to do." America said.

"Ames?" Aspen said, softly.

"Hm?"

"I'm serious when I say three minutes."

"I know." America said, defensively.

"I'll throw you over my shoulder if I have to."

"Okay, Aspen." America said, exasperated. She couldn't blame him for his firmness, though. She was notorious for staying on rope lines and signing autographs well after her security detail advised her to leave.

Aspen pressed a finger to his earpiece and got a distant look in his eye as he listened. "...Camera crews for the _Report_ are all set up... Bakery sweep is finished... guards are in place."

"Perfect timing." May complimented. They could see the bakery down the street now. There was an enormous crowd of people lined up for two blocks leading up to the actual building. Most were women and children, most had signs with America's or May's name written. There were Angeles police officers stationed every few feet to keep the people on the sidewalks and off of the streets so that cars could pass. On seeing the marked car approach, the crowd burst into a frenzy of cheers. There was credentialed press lining the entrance to the bakery on one side, cameras clicking and flashing, hoping to get the first shot of the Queen that day.

"Nervous?" America asked the girls as they stared, apprehensively, at the crowd.

"A little." Makayla admitted.

"Will they want _my_ autograph?" Cathryn asked, curiously.

"I think so." America said, thoughtfully. "Are you alright with signing a few autographs?"

Cathryn grinned excitedly, "Yeah."

"Stick together." May advised them. "My first time signing autographs was just after Maxon proposed to America. I didn't leave her side the whole time."

"I wouldn't let her." America smiled at the memory. May had been such a little thing back then, and the media had been almost frightening in their pursuit of the adorable younger sister of the future Queen of Illéa. America had stood over her, watching like a hawk for any signs of aggression from autograph seekers or photographers alike.

"It helped." May promised. "Staying with her. Now we usually split up to cover more ground, if you start feeling brave later you can give it a try. But for your first time?"

"Stick together." Makayla repeated, nodding her understanding.

"Are you ready, your Majesty?" Aspen asked.

"Ready." America nodded, adjusting her dress one last time.

Aspen gave a coded order to the guards waiting outside, and May leant over and arranged America's hair down one shoulder before kissing her cheek. "You look great, Sis. You and Maxon should make babies all the time."

America laughed at her sister as Aspen opened the car door and jumped out ahead of them. The camera flashes seemed even brighter now that there was no barrier between them and the people they were trying to capture. May slid gracefully out of the car first, smiling brightly and waving to the gathered crowd. The roar at the sight of her was deafening.

For a split-second, all America could think about was Carolina and their childhood and eating what dinner they'd managed to scrounge up, all together at that old, wobbly kitchen table, their mother full of gossip and their father covered in paint. Sometimes it was hard to believe that that had been the same lifetime. Surely it had been some other redhead in some other family, living some other life.

Sometimes it saddened America to think that her own children would never have those experiences. Not the hunger or the uncertainty, and the fear that came with being hungry and uncertain. But there were simple times, warm and soft times that the Palace couldn't hope to recreate. The reassuring creak of the floor as May snuck into America's bed in the middle of the night to keep warm or avoid closet monsters or both. The smell of paint on her father's hands as he tucked her into bed and told her stories of long forgotten history to lull her to sleep. The gentleness of the small, crowded old house that was made into a home by their devotion to each other. Gentleness. It was going to be so hard for America to create a gentle space for her children in a palace that sometimes seemed to have nothing but stone, armed guards, and dubious political dealings mixed together for the mortar.

That's what she'd traded away, when marrying Maxon. All things simple, gentle, warm, and soft. And she'd made that trade for May and Gerad, too, without ever asking them for their consent. Moments like this, with so many people clambering for a piece of her baby sister, and demanding that May be generous about it, America couldn't help but feel guilty.

While America was lost in her thoughts, Makayla and Cathryn were the next out of the car, never dropping their vice-like grip on each other's hands. The section of the crowd that had been roped off for photographers clicked a few lazy pictures, and then returned their attention to May, who was way down the rope line, shaking hands and signing autographs. Makayla and Cathryn spotted her and joined her, deciding to follow her lead until they learned what to do.

America took a deep, steadying breath, knowing that it was her turn now. Even though her first instinct was still to close the door and tell the driver to speed away and not to stop until they reached Carolina, America stepped confidently out of the car and put on her happiest grin. She wasn't the redhead from that other family living that other life anymore. Now, she was the Queen of Illéa, and she was damn good at it.

The proprietor of the bakery was a kindly old woman, who worked with her son (a little older than Kenna), and his daughter (a little younger than Cathryn). When the little girl took over the shop one day, she'd be the fifth generation of her family to run the store. Cathryn and Makayla seemed to come to life with another small person around to talk to, and the little baker's girl took them on their own tour, offering them cookies, while a couple of _Report _cameras followed America and May at a respectful distance. May went on a tour of the back kitchen with the old woman's son, and one camera followed her on that journey. America was left in the store front with the old woman and Aspen, who was standing watchfully in the front doorway.

"Have you been baking all of your life?" America asked, with polite curiosity. Maxon had taught her, and Silvia reinforced, that when royalty visited the community they were to learn everything they could about the lives and livelihoods of the people. It would help them to learn about other walks of life and remind them of the duty they'd pledged when taking their oaths as monarchs. Maxon was the best at this, charming as he was, but America had taken to it rather well. Much better than dancing or table manners (she _still _sometimes got her spoons confused). Unlike differentiating forks, she actually liked getting to know these people.

"Oh, yes, your Majesty." The woman, who was named Roseabelle smiled, and invited her to sit at a small, round table set up in the window of the shop. It was covered in a well-worn but impeccably clean floral tablecloth. Two old cafe chairs faced the table, and a fine, albeit old tea service sat waiting for them. Roseabelle began to pour tea for the both of them. "My mother taught me all of my grandfather's recipes, and I've passed them all down. Nothing is written, it's all up here." she tapped her grey temple. "But we've never had a recipe stolen."

America went to take a sip, and Aspen shifted uncomfortably at the doorway. America paused and turned to him. "Are you alright, Aspen?"

"Fine, your Majesty."

She knew what he was thinking. He was thinking K could have snuck in here and poisoned the tea. America sighed at the paranoia that surrounded her everyday life, "We did come here to eat, didn't we?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"And the guards came through and checked the place for anything suspicious?"

"They did."

"So I'm allowed to have tea, aren't I?"

Aspen didn't speak, but he nodded, frowning.

"Did I do something wrong?" Roseabelle asked, concernedly.

"Not at all." America assured her. "My husband has been… more than usually protective of me since we found out about the baby. And that's really saying something, if you knew how protective of me he was before." she smiled, gently.

"He's a good man, your husband."

"Yes, he is. I'm very lucky."

Roseabelle got a thoughtful look on her face, "When he was a boy… he favored chocolate cake. Is that still his favorite treat?"

America smiled, "It is. He always looks as if he's getting away with something whenever we share a slice of chocolate cake." Maxon always looked as if he was getting away with something anytime he actually got something that he wanted. He was still getting used to being allowed to have things.

"I'll be sure to send you back with a slice for him."

"Oh, he'll love that." America grinned. "He was practically pouting when I left him today. He wanted to come with us, but he's stuck in the office." It wasn't untrue. Maxon's first choice would have been to cancel the trip altogether, but his second choice definitely would have been to go with her.

"This should work wonders to make him feel better." Roseabelle winked. "Oh, and I nearly forgot. I whipped up a little something special for you, too, dear." Aspen was practically sweating bullets at the thought as Roseabelle crossed over to the glass display and withdrew and covered plate. She brought it over to America and whipped off the lid. There, sitting before her, was the most beautiful strawberry tart America had ever seen.

America burst into a wide smile. "Thank you so much. I suppose my reputation precedes me?"

Roseabelle chuckled and handed her a fork. "I've filled more than a few orders for the Palace since you went into residence. And most recently, your pastry chef came down with the flu the same week your cravings hit you in full force, as I understand it."

"And you stepped in?"

"I was more than happy to do it." Roseabelle nodded.

"I've been eating _your_ strawberry tarts for the last few weeks?" America shook her head, astonished. "I thought they tasted even better than usual. I blamed it on the hormones." This seemed to set Aspen at ease. If this kindly old woman whose family had been serving royalty for generations _really_ wanted to poison America for some reason, she'd have had plenty of opportunities to do it, weeks ago.

"Do you know, you're not the only royal to favor the strawberry tart." Roseabelle said, grinning, returning to her seat as America took her first bite and it melted in her mouth.

"Did Queen Amberly?" America asked, swallowing heavily and hoping against hope. Anything she could share with her predecessor was a gift.

"No, my dear, I recall Queen Amberly being a chocolate cake person, like her sweet, sweet boy."

America nodded. Of course, that made perfect sense. They were so alike in every other way, Maxon was Amberly's son through and through. America suddenly had a hundred questions for Maxon about the origins of his love for chocolate cake. She tucked them into the back of her mind and vowed to ask him all of them the next chance she got.

"Then who else was the strawberry tart lover?" America asked, curiously. "Was it Queen Abby?"

"It was King Clarkson, as a matter of fact."

America's fork dropped to her little dessert plate with a clang and she blushed at the noise, evidence of her blatant shock, before picking the fork up again. "Clarkson?" America breathed.

"They were his favorite, God rest his soul. I still remember the first time he came into this shop, as a young Prince. He was thirteen at the time, I believe, and making the trip without his parents. He was very polite and he asked all the right questions, posed very well for the cameras, but the only smile I ever saw on his little face was when he bit into one of our strawberry tarts.

America was now ponderously chewing her own bite of strawberry tart. She had something in common with Clarkson. She'd lived several happy years thinking she had nothing in common with the man whatsoever, and now she found out that they had this very specific preference in common. Suddenly, she wanted Maxon again. Were there other commonalities she didn't know about? Did he ever see any of his father in her?

America forced herself back to the present with a sip of hot tea. "Do you know all of the favorite desserts of Maxon's ancestors?" America asked, trying to distract herself. Maybe there'd be someone wonderful with the strawberry tart preference. Maybe Katherine Illéa? Or Justin?

"I just might." Roseabelle considered. "We've been serving Illéan royalty since King Gregory himself made a stop into this shop, shortly after my grandfather first opened. It's a bit of a family legend, although there are photographs to prove that it happened."

"And you know Gregory Illéa's favorite dessert?" America asked, enthralled.

"Shortbread." Roseabelle confided.

"That makes sense." America supposed. "Butter, sugar, and flour, is that right?"

"Yes, ma'am."

America knew that Gregory had been a conservative man, he didn't approve of wastefulness in any form. It made perfect sense that his favorite dessert consisted of three basic ingredients. He'd never have abided the extravagance of a strawberry tart. "How practical of him. I suppose he lived his life in wartimes, and it makes sense that he would favor something simple and relatively accessible." It was her kindest appraisal of the man who'd basically sold his daughter and commandeered the country.

"King Porter favored chocolate covered strawberries, I wonder what that says about him?" Roseabelle smiled.

"That he had excellent taste, obviously." America smiled brightly. "I could live off of chocolate covered strawberries. And Queen Abby?"

"Dark chocolate bonbons filled with champagne."

America's eyes widened at the thought, "That exists?"

"Oh, yes. She ate them by the truckload."

"Wow." her mouth watered at the very thought of that treat.

"Your Majesty, I have to ask." Roseabelle began, nervously.

"What is it?" America asked, kindly.

"Would you bring your child back once he or she is born? I sold strawberries to King Porter when I was a girl, and it would truly be something to be able to say that I personally served four generations of Illéan royalty."

"That sounds like a wonderful idea, Roseabelle. You just give me two or three years to get this baby ready, and I'll come back. I'll even bring my husband with me, he would love to hear these stories about his family from you." It was true. Maxon knew next to nothing about his grandmother and grandfather, Clarkson had always been tight-lipped and dismissive about Maxon's curiosity and Amberly had always refused to answer on Clarkson's behalf.

"Thank you, your Majesty, that sounds wonderful. I'm looking forward to it already."

Aspen ushered America, May, Makayla, and Cathryn out into the idling car to hurry on to their next destination. For the entire ride to the garment shop, Cathryn and May were gushing to each other about the delicious cupcakes they'd been given at the bakery.

There was another rope line at the garment shop, and this time America really did have to be dragged away by Aspen.

She was in the middle of signing autographs for a group of kids who'd made the trip all the way from Clermont to try to see her, and America had very special connection to Clermont so she wasn't about to pass them by.

"Time's up, your Majesty." Aspen instructed her, keeping watch as May, Makayla, and Cathryn were ushered inside by others on the security team.

"Just a minute, Aspen, I'm almost done." America said, before returning her attention to the enthusiastic, eager, grinning children before her, as well as the three adults who'd brought them.

"I'm sorry, your Majesty, we have to go—"

"Aspen, these kids made a very long trip for the chance to see me, I'm not going to sign autographs for half of them and leave the other half out in the cold." 'Out in the cold' was proverbial. It was a typically scorching Angeles July day.

The very moment her pen was done flourishing the last 'e' on the last 'Queen America Schreave', Aspen had his hand on her elbow and was steering her away, into the safety and cover of the garment shop.

America made sure to glare at him extra hard before ripping her arm from his grasp, once the doors were closed. This time, there would be no cameras inside to stalk them. The shop proprietors would definitely be interviewed later, but no photographs or video would exist of the exchange.

"That wasn't necessary." America said to Aspen, grouchily.

"I bring you back to the Palace with a hole in you, and Maxon sends me home to my wife with a hole in me. It's simple avoidance of pain, America, and you could be more considerate of me." He was mostly joking, but America had no trouble imagining Maxon knocking Aspen around a little, if something happened to her outside of the Palace. And she had no trouble imagining Aspen just standing there and taking it, grateful for the punishment for his failures.

"Let's hope Meri doesn't inherit your weird hero complex." America shook her head and rolled her eyes, but she'd already forgiven Aspen's roughness from earlier.

May and the girls were already lost in the racks and racks of beautiful dresses, skirts, blouses, handbags, and fabrics for creating one's own dresses, skirts, blouses, and handbags. May wasted no time in gathering a stack of clothes on her arm to take to one of the back rooms and try on.

The shop owner was a sweet woman, about Kota's age, with a keen eye for fashion. She complimented Mary's work on America's dress no fewer than five times. America had fun looking through the different maternity clothes in the shop, and even picked out a few pieces to add to her everyday wardrobe. All of her public outfits would still be handcrafted by her maids, but this would save them a little bit of trouble. She already pitied them the extra work they were going to have, just keeping America clothed day-to-day as her belly grew.

America even found a tie for Maxon in the men's section of the shop, the exact blue of so many of America's dresses. They'd coordinate wonderfully anytime he wore it. She stroked the soft, pleasing fabric gently through her fingers, once again wishing that her husband was with her, as she began discussing the details of the shop with the owner. 'How long has this shop been here?', 'How has business been lately?', 'How do you keep on top of developing fashion trends?'.

As she was walking through the shop with the owner, America paused in front of a beautiful but practical maternity dress on a mannequin. "How many of these do you have?" America asked, thoughtfully.

"Oh, about twenty-five, your Majesty." She answered.

"Different sizes?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

"Could you make more?" The idea was forming in America's mind, even as she asked the questions.

"More?"

"I… I think I'd like to send a few of these out to the prenatal clinics in the provinces." America said. "Some women have a very hard time paying for the clothes they need to fit their changing forms. Sometimes it's a matter of choosing between clothing that fits and having something to eat that day."

"It might take some time, but I could work up a couple hundred." the woman offered, sweetly. America did the math, quickly. Only six dresses per province. It didn't sound like much, the need was so much greater, but helping ease the burden ever so slightly on 200 pregnant women?

"I'll pay whatever you need." America vowed. "If you deliver them to the Palace, we'll send them out with other aid shipments." America's mission was to make Illéa a better place for her people, and sometimes she could only do that six dresses at a time. But at least it was something.

The ride back to the Palace was like night and day from the ride out. Makayla and Cathryn were chatting happily with the others in the car, Aspen seemed worlds more relaxed now that they were on their way back to the Palace, and America sat, pensively, mostly staring out the window.

"Ames?" May finally asked, poking America in the shoulder.

"Hm?"

"Whatcha thinking?"

"…A clothing initiative." America mumbled, giving voice to the bare minimum of her whirlwind of thoughts.

"What does that mean?" May rolled her eyes at her sister's reticence.

"A push to convince upper castes to donate their used clothing to lower castes, rather than throwing them away."

"What would a Six do with a pair of shoes like these?" May asked, gesturing down to her own beautiful heels.

"Kamber and Celia would have danced all around the house in them." Aspen offered. "Maybe worn them to parties or the Province Services Office when they went to have their pictures taken for the Selection."

"You're right, it wouldn't all be functional." America said to May. "But upper castes throw away perfectly good coats and jackets, and maternity clothes when they're done having children… some of it could be invaluable to lower caste families struggling to survive."

May considered it, thoughtfully. "There were definitely years I could have done with a nice new jacket or coat."

"I know there were." America said, sadly, stroking May's cheek quickly with the pad of her thumb.

"Would you wipe that guilty look off of your face, please?" May demanded. "You're the reason I never have to worry about that again. If it weren't for you, I'd still be there."

"You'd have married up." America said, confidently.

"Fours don't have it so much better, you know." May said.

America sighed, chagrinned. "Well, I'm working on fixing that, too."

May nodded, understandingly. "I think it's a good idea, Ames. A Palace sponsored clothing drive. We could do it together, if you want. There are a lot of upper caste girls out there ready to do whatever I tell them to."

America winced, "That sounds sinister."

"It's just true." May shrugged. "What do you think, Makayla?"

"I've got all kinds of clothes I don't need anymore." Makayla offered, once she was done being surprised to be brought into their conversation.

"If I asked you to donate them to a massive, Illéa-wide clothing drive, would you do it?" May asked.

"Immediately." Makayla nodded, eyes wide. Cathryn emphatically nodded her head, too.

"See?" May gestured. "I'll get the kids of Illéa, you get the Moms, who adore you. And we both know the Moms of Illéa control the closets of Illéa… we could do a lot of good, if we start organizing now."

"You think we could pull this together in time for this winter?" America asked.

"Ames, I have literally no other jobs." May grinned. "Of course we can pull it together in time for winter."

America smiled at her little sister. "I have to run it by the advisers first."

"They might think giving people clothes to survive the winter could be _bad _advice?" May asked, incredulously. "What kind of advisers do you have in there, Ames?"

America shook her head, thinking of Jepsen. "May, you don't know the half of it."


	31. Chapter 31

America was all about the strawberries covered in chocolate. Ever since the treat had been mentioned to her by the old woman who ran the bakery in Angeles, chocolate-covered strawberries had become America's snack of choice. At the moment, she had one in each hand and was alternating bites of each, relishing the combination of tart and sweet on her tongue.

Maxon was finally making good on his promise of a garden picnic. It was a Sunday afternoon, and they had some time off of work to spend together. To avoid the worst of the heat, they'd waited until just before sunset before heading outside. They had a large pitcher of ice water, and they sat in the shade of an enormous old tree that must have been planted before Illéa was even founded.

This was the most relaxed America had seen Maxon in weeks. He leaned back against the tree they sat beneath, legs crossed at the ankles, casually peeling and consuming an orange as they sat in easy silence. He practically glowed in the summer sun.

"Maxon?" she chewed through a chocolate-covered strawberry, studying him closely.

"Hm?"

"Silvia mentioned yesterday that it's time to plan your birthday party."

Maxon nodded, chewing through an orange slice. "I suppose so." he finally said.

"Any special requests this year?" America asked, smiling. She already knew what his special request would be. It was the same every year.

"You. Me. Locked in our room. Naked. Chocolate cake, naked. Naked action movie with extra naked, naked balcony time… did I mention naked?" he asked the question in a concerned tone that made America laugh.

"I'll be sure to take that directly to Silvia."

"She'd have to obey me, I'm her king." he said, wisely.

"I'm just not sure what kind of message that'll send to your people, when their king refuses to leave his bedroom on his birthday, except to trudge, naked, down to the movie theater…" America pretended to ponder.

"That's probably the kind of question we'd have to ask the advisers." Maxon nodded, seriously.

America would have argued that her belly was going to grow a lot in the three weeks until his birthday, and he might not find her nakedness as attractive as he usually did, but she knew it wasn't true. If anything, Maxon was even more obsessed with her skin than usual, now that it was rapidly expanding to shelter his little heir. "Right." America sighed. "Well, I guess that's what we pay them for."

Maxon chuckled, "Damn right."

America laid down on her back, stretching her whole body until her back arched. She collapsed, still splayed across the soft blanket beneath them and said, as she traced a finger in figure eights over her little belly, even littler when she laid on her back and gravity pulled it down flat, "You know, that bakery May and I went to made an excellent chocolate cake."

"Yes, it certainly did." Maxon nodded, eyeing the finger she had dancing over her belly with delight. "Thank you for bringing me back a slice, by the way."

"It was the woman who owns the bakery, she's the one who thought of you—"

"I remember her!" Maxon said, enthusiastically. "I went on a royal visit when I was about thirteen. I think I had some chocolate cake then, too."

"She remembered." America nodded. "All these years, she remembered it was your favorite, and she made a slice just for you when she found out I'd be visiting."

Maxon looked very pleased as he considered this. It occurred to America how much affection from his family he'd missed out on as a child, and how much of what was missing he'd been able to find with his subjects, the people he would later rule. His own father would have been hard pressed to remember how much Maxon loved chocolate cake, but this woman, all but a stranger, noticed and remembered for years and years. And it meant so much to him, this token of affection. His relationship with the citizens of Illéa fascinated America to no end. "I should write her a note, thanking her." Maxon mused, leaning down on his left elbow and stretching out next to America. With his right hand, he took over tracing patterns on her stomach and America let her hand fall to the blanket with a contented sigh.

"That feels nice."

"Yeah?"

"Mhmm. Please don't stop." she requested.

He paused only long enough to press a kiss to her lips. "Since you asked so nicely." He agreed, and his finger continued its swirling journey across her stomach.

"So anyway," America continued, closing her eyes and basking in a warm breeze that swept across her face and caused the leaves of the tree above them to rustle in the most soothing of ways, "I was thinking of commissioning her to do your birthday cake. It'll take some of the pressure off of the kitchen to create a masterpiece, they can focus on the appetizers and the dinner for your party."

"Party?" Maxon whined. He knew he had to have a party, he just liked to pretend.

"Yes, party." America smiled. Then she peeked an eye open. "So what do you think?"

"Brilliant as usual, my d…ear wife." He caught himself just in time. You'd think after three years of marriage, he'd have gotten out of the habit.

"She's a nice old woman, Maxon."

"And an excellent baker." Maxon added.

"She was able to tell me all about your family. They've been buying baked goods from her family since Gregory Illéa, himself. Did you know that?"

"I did." he said, grinning at her.

"She knows what Gregory Illéa's favorite cookie was. I read those diaries forward and backwards, there was no mention of his favorite cookie."

"And she knows my favorite dessert."

"She knows everyone's." America said, awe in her voice. "Your grandmother used to eat these things, chocolate shells filled with champagne."

"Can we have some of those at my party?"

"Sure." America brought her hand back up to capture Maxon's and laced her fingers through his. "You'll never guess what your father's favorite pastry was."

"Father…" Maxon said, thoughtfully, removing his arm and laying flat on the blanket, peering up at the branches of the tree and the blue sky peeking through the foliage. America shifted so that she could lay her head on his chest, their joined hands clasped between them. "I recall him eating puffed pastries—"

"Nope."

"Peppermint chocolates?"

"No."

"Hmm…"

"Strawberry tarts." America answered for him.

Maxon tilted his head up just enough to peek into her blue eyes. "Seriously?"

"Seriously."

Maxon laughed, but not entirely lightheartedly. "I wonder what he thought when he realized what a crux those become in the foundation of our relationship."

"I bet he never touched them again." America said, softly. "Your mother probably saw the connection, though."

"She was a watchful creature." Maxon agreed.

"…Do you think I'm like him?" America asked, rolling over and resting her elbows on the ground to take the weight off of her little stomach.

Maxon's face showed confusion, "Like my father?"

"Yeah."

"Isn't that supposed to be _my_ insecurity?" Maxon reminded her.

"You're your mother's son through and through, Maxon, we both know that."

"No, I don't think you're like him." Maxon said, simply, like he wanted to end the conversation right there.

"We both had a taste for strawberry tarts."

"And you both liked to wear blue, so what?"

"Really?" America asked, fascinated. "He had a favorite color? He always seemed too serious—"

"Ames, what are you doing?"

"I just wonder… I wonder about him a lot. Now that he's dead, I can look at his life as a whole picture… and it's hard to understand what I see. It's hard to understand the man who gave you the same pair of stupid cufflinks for every damn occasion—"

"I like those cufflinks." Maxon reminded her, placing a hand on her cheek.

America sighed. "You'd have liked anything he'd given you. He didn't have to abuse your adoration like that."

'Abuse' had been the wrong word to use. Maxon's expression grew cloudy, and his hand fell from her face. He didn't say anything, but he shifted his hardened gaze to the branches above them and his body was stiff where their sides touched.

"Maxon—" America began, apologetically, but he cut her off.

"Weren't we talking about cake?" his voice was hard.

America studied his dark expression for a moment and then leant close to his ear, "I love you, Maxon." she said, softly right in his ear, just to remind him. He could never hear those words enough. She tried to think about why it upset him so much when she discussed the crueler aspects of Clarkson's personality. "I know your father was doing the best he could. He wasn't the kind of person to do less." she was using the same hushed, soothing tone as before, and she let the tip of her nose graze his temple. "I just don't get him. It's hard for me to know what to do with his legacy and to make peace with his memory when I'm still so confused by it all. Maybe if I had some things in common with him, it would help me understand him."

Maxon took a deep breath and let it out in a long sigh, and as the air left his lungs, the tension in his body seemed to melt. He was still staring at the tree, but his gaze wasn't about to burn holes through the branches anymore. He began to stroke his thumb across her hand that was still clasped in his. He was silent for a long minute, but America could see how thoughtful he was the whole time. He wasn't letting her in on any of those thoughts, otherwise they'd have been having one of their many silent conversations, but it wasn't because he was mad at her. He was just considering things. His forehead held the ghost of one of his trademark forehead crinkles, not enough for America to attempt to wipe or kiss away, but enough for her to see it. To know it was there.

Finally he said, "Stubborn." Then he turned his head to look up at her. "You were the only person in this Palace as stubborn as he was. That was the root of the conflict, if you ask me. He'd probably never in his life been challenged by someone as strong-willed as he was." The corners of Maxon's mouth tugged upward just a little at the memory. "And you both protect what's yours. Your families, your country. Me. You just had fundamentally opposed ideas about how to protect your families, country, and me, but you were equally resolute in your missions."

"You're making it sound like I'm his reincarnation." America pouted.

"Lord, no." Maxon chuckled. "But the two of you would have made worthy opponents for the other, if he'd lived and hadn't resorted to violence in order to bend this country and everyone in it to his will. He was wrong about a lot of things, Ames, but he was right about some things, too. And even though I know it would be a nightmare, having him alive right now, and I know how much more difficult everything, _literally_ everything would be, I can't help but wish he was here. To advise me on security or budget matters… or just to talk to."

"Of course." America said, trying to make it clear that _that_, at least, she could understand. "He was your daddy. Of course you miss him. You don't have to justify that to me, of all people. I'm an expert at missing dead dads. I know everything there is to know about it." She kissed his cheek. "You know what?"

"Hm?"

"I think that helped." America said. Mostly for his benefit, but also because it really did help her frame her conflicts with Clarkson through Maxon's eyes, and that was useful to her.

"Yeah?"

"We can go back to talking about cake now."

"Good."

"And how badly I wish I had a slice of cake now." America mused.

"We're going to talk about that?" Maxon asked, cautiously.

"At length."

"Until I agree to go and bring you a slice of cake?"

"You're really getting this whole 'pregnancy' thing down, Maxon." America winked at him.

Maxon sighed and sat up, "I don't suppose it would taste the same if I asked a guard to send word to the kitchen and have a maid—"

"It's _your_ job, Maxon! It's your con—"

"Yeah, yeah, it's my contribution." He huffed as he hoisted himself to his feet. They'd had this talk a few different times when she'd sent him to the kitchens at odd hours for various, equally odd snacks.

"Those maids didn't father this baby."

"Nope. That was _all _me." he said, proudly.

"And we take responsibility for our actions, don't we?" she lectured.

"Yes, _Mom_."

"Don't you 'Yes, Mom' me, Maxon Schreave!" America joked. The truth was, she really was becoming a bit a of a mother as her pregnancy progressed. She'd always been a nurturer, with May and Gerad to look after, but she'd advanced to a whole new level since entering her second trimester. There were times when, even to her own ears, she sounded just like her own mother. The very thought made her shudder whenever she considered it for too long at one time.

"At first the cooking staff were appalled at my frequent unannounced visits." Maxon ran a hand through his blonde hair, mussing it up in a way that sent America's hormones and pulse racing. "But now they're used to me. They take pity on me and usually make a treat for me while I'm down there."

"They're so considerate."

"You know, most wives would be thrilled to be able to keep their husbands by their side, and still get midnight bedside delivery of grilled cheeses stuffed with pickles." Maxon noted, reflecting on the request she'd given him the previous night.

"You think I'm going to soldier through swollen ankles and morning sickness while you kick your heels back and do nothing? You think I'm going to suffer from a craving so strong that it wakes me from a dead sleep and then let you just lie there, dreaming, while some poor night maid has to fetch me a picklecheese sandwich? I don't think so. You don't have to physically carry this child, Maxon, so this is how you play along at home."

"Yes, ma'am." He grinned.

"Also, I would like some cold milk." America stated, matter-of-factly.

Maxon was chuckling as he walked away from their picnic spread, and America rolled on her back. A moment later, a guard appeared at the corner Maxon had just rounded and disappeared behind. America wasn't surprised. Maxon was feeling better about the rebel situation, but he was by no means at ease.

It didn't take more than fifteen minutes for Maxon reappear around the corner carrying a tray, and for the guard to return to his post. America sat up at the sight of Maxon, straightening out the blanket in preparation for the tray of cake and milk. When he sat the snack before her, she noticed that there were two forks on the plate of cinnamon coffee cake (the kitchen wasn't making another chocolate cake until Friday), but the frosty glass of ice cold milk was all hers. She smiled at it. "Thank you, Maxon."

"My pleasure, Love." he assured her, grabbing a fork and cutting a corner to devour.

America gulped down almost half of the glass of milk in one go, leaving her with Maxon's amused attention and an impressive milk mustache that her husband did not hesitate to kiss off of her.

"This is good." America sighed into her first bite.

"Baby likes it?" Maxon asked, taking his own bite.

"Mama likes it, that's for sure." America said, going in with her fork for another bite.

"What do you think about 'Ravenna'?"

"What's—"

"Baby name." Maxon explained, quickly.

"Oh. Hm." America chewed it over, literally and figuratively.

"Queen Ravenna of Illéa." Maxon tested it out. "I kind of like it. She sounds commanding. Mysterious, maybe."

"Maybe a little villainous?" America suggested. "I can just see Queen Ravenna wearing a long black cape and sitting on a spiky throne."

"Nah. She'd be strong, but not evil. Authoritative. And she'd be your little identical twin." he added with a grin.

"We can add it to the list." America agreed. "I like it better than Maisy, for our first girl."

"And what about 'Erikson', for a boy?"

"Clarkson, Maxon, and Erikson. I think he definitely belongs in your family line." America said, after another long drink of milk.

"Should I have brought you more?" Maxon asked, eyeing her enormous but now nearly empty glass.

"No, this was plenty. I should switch back to water, anyway." America said. Then she peered over at him, "I thought of a name, too."

"Really?"

"Don't laugh."

"I would never." He pretended to be affronted.

"…Carolina? For a girl? Carolina Schreave?" she suggested, timidly, waiting for his face to react.

It took a moment before the chuckle came, and then his shoulders shook, but that was it. "Really?" he asked.

"You said you wouldn't laugh!"

"That wasn't a laugh." Maxon defended. "Ames, if we named her Carolina, we'd have to have 34 more children after her to represent all of the provinces. Don't get me wrong, I relish the challenge, nothing would please me more than to have 35 children with you, I just think little Honduragua might get fiercely teased."

America sighed and reluctantly agreed, "Probably a little worse than baby Hansport."

"And do we really want to name one of our kids 'St. George'?"

"No." America agreed. "But Carolina is a beautiful name. And it means a lot to me."

Maxon peered over at her, studying her face as she ate another bite of cake. "I suppose the people might understand, as it's the birthplace of their beloved queen."

"Queen Carolina of Illéa." America offered, without the same zeal Maxon put into declaring his suggestions.

"I like the sound of it." Maxon smiled. "It makes me think of sunshine and green grass."

"Home." America agreed, though Maxon had never actually been to her childhood home. They'd wanted to go after they'd gotten engaged. Maxon wanted to see the house and pay his final respects to America's father, but Kota owned the house and refused to allow them on the property. He was unhappy that he wasn't invited to live in the home in Angeles with the rest of the Singers. In the end, the trip to Carolina was delayed indefinitely. They still hadn't gone.

"Princess Carolina…" Maxon grinned, turning it over in his mouth.

"Prince Erikson." America added. Then she sighed, setting down her fork and placing both hands on her belly. "Who are you?" America demanded, eyeing the lump in her dress suspiciously.

Maxon laughed, "We'll figure it out, Ames. We still have time."


	32. Chapter 32

America collapsed straight down in her chair, awash in a rush of dizziness, hand flying to her suddenly pounding temple and knees turning to jelly beneath her. This was the second time she'd tried and failed to stand up that day alone. It had been a dizzy week, to say the least.

"Alright?" Marlee asked, from across America's desk. They were in the middle of a discussion about publicizing May and America's clothing drive.

"Fine." America assured her. Marlee didn't look too worried, she'd suffered with bouts of dizziness when she'd been pregnant with Kile. Maxon was another story, though.

"Ames?" his worried voice called from his office, almost on cue. It took everything she had not to roll her eyes at the sound. He had been out-of-control protective lately, but she loved him anyway. She just had to keep reminding her hormone-riddled self of that.

America looked up and through the open adjoining doors to her husband's desk, behind which he sat, gaze momentarily lifted from a hefty economics report, his brown eyes visibly concerned. "I'm fine, Maxon." America promised, a patronizing edge to her tone that did not go unnoticed by her husband.

After taking a moment to steady herself with a deep breath, she stood again, this time with much more success. She crossed the room to a handsome wooden filing cabinet and withdrew a comprehensive contact list of Gavril's favored media representatives. "These are the people you call and invite to the press conference." America handed the thick book to Marlee.

"Is this all? You said there'd be a lot, Ames." Marlee grimaced, her tone oozing sarcasm.

America nodded sympathetically, "I'd call some of them for you, but... I don't have to, I'm the Queen."

"Which is why no one could stop you if you _wanted _to help me." Marlee grinned.

"Yeah, but I really _don't_ want to."

Marlee laughed and took the book from America's hands. "Maybe I should make May help me." she considered.

"I hate to break it to you, Marls, but May outranks you. You can't make her do anything." America paused, shaking her head. "For that matter, neither can I."

Marlee heaved a forlorn little sigh and stood, gracefully. "I'd better go get started, then. Maybe, with some luck, I'll finish before my fiftieth birthday. Make sure Kile knows his mother's name, and that I loved him. Dance with him at his wedding for me."

"Are you done?" America laughed at Marlee's melodramatics.

"I guess."

"Good, because you might have time to pay Kile one last visit before your thirty year work disappearance. I don't want you contacting anyone until your meeting with Gavril this afternoon. He's got a clothing designer lined up to help promote the drive with Twos. You'll want to include information about that in your calls." America said, leaning back against her desk.

"You know Silvia promoted me literally yesterday, right?" Marlee frowned. "I'd hoped to be eased in a little."

"Are you telling me that you don't_ love_ your new responsibilities, Marls?" America laughed.

Marlee stood and tossed her curly hair over her shoulder, "Spending my whole day cold-calling a million grouchy old guys and reciting the same boring information to them all? It's the highest honor, Your Majesty." She sank into a deeply sarcastic curtsey. "The pride of my family at my brave and humble service to Illéa knows no bounds."

"Get out of here before I lock you in a dungeon." America laughed, and Marlee turned, but stopped before taking a step and looked back.

"Dinner this weekend? Just us?" she offered.

America thought it over, and counter-offered "Lunch on Sunday?"

Marlee nodded, "See you then." And she left.

Maxon was at their doorway the moment Marlee disappeared. "Another dizzy spell?" his tone was lecturing.

"It's normal, Maxon." America reminded him. "Sometimes my heart just can't keep up." After her first dizzy spell, Maxon had rushed her to the hospital wing, carrying her the whole way in his arms. Dr. Ashlar had all but laughed and then explained that this was very common and nothing to be concerned about. Just the result of an increased workload on America's heart as the baby grew larger and more complex.

"Have you been doing the exercises?" Maxon asked, his voice patronizing. Dr. Ashlar had also suggested certain exercises to help strengthen America's heart and reduce the number and intensity of the dizzy spells. Maxon knew full-well that she hadn't been doing them, since he refused to let her out of his sight for more than ten minutes at a time without finding out where she was and then sticking a palace guard on her tail to watch her every movement and, incidentally, report back to him.

"Yeah, Maxon, with my hours of daily free time, I have focused exclusively on doing the stupid exercises." America snapped.

"Ames-" Maxon attempted to reproach, but America turned away.

"Don't you have a job to do?" She demanded. "One that doesn't involve asking questions you already know the answers to?"

Maxon sighed, frustrated, and rubbed a hand over his face. "You know what I'm going to say already, don't you?"

America picked up in a mocking tone, "You need to do the exercises, America; Your health is more important than the country, America; Stop being so stubborn, America."

Maxon's tone was dark, "Glad to hear I'm getting through."

"You're smothering me, Maxon, and you're doing it on purpose." She rounded on him and glared. "I can be a good queen, be a good mother to this baby by taking good care of myself, and be a good wife to you all at the same time."

Maxon looked taken aback. "Of course you can."

"Then stop lecturing me like I'm failing you on some level. I'm not. I'm doing it all."

Maxon blinked and opened his crossed arms, stepping forward to close the gap between them. "America, that's not what I meant... Ames, I know…" he paused, shook his head, and tried again. "I love you. You're doing a _wonderful_ job. I just want you to be okay."

"I'm okay." She promised, some of the frost thawing from her tone. She sighed heavily and reminded her hormones that she wasn't actually mad at Maxon. That they just wanted her to be. "I'll do the dumb exercises." she relented, and the cautiously relieved look on Maxon's face made it worth the sacrifice. "I'll have Silvia build them into my schedule."

"Good." Maxon nodded, pretending that he wasn't as relieved as he was. "I appreciate that."

America smiled a little at his formal tone and shook her head. He was on eggshells around her right now because she'd been unpredictably moody lately, at the moment he was clearly working very hard to keep from wrapping his arms around her, afraid that his touch might set her off again and she'd start yelling or burst into tears, or maybe collapse into an inconsolable fit of giggles.

"Maxon?"

"Hm?" He answered, distracted by the awkwardness of what to do with his arms now that he was trying to keep them away from America.

"I'll take that hug now." She said, and Maxon's shoulders sagged with relief.

"Thank goodness." He wrapped her up tightly and kissed the top of her head. "You know those exercises will help when it's time for you to deliver the baby, don't you? The positions will strengthen your pelvic floor and make your pushes much more productive."

America furrowed her brow against his chest, "What are you… oh. You've been reading the books Dr. Ashlar gave us?"

"Religiously."

"Honestly, boy, when do you sleep?" America shook her head with a chuckle. She didn't know why she hadn't really bothered with the pregnancy and baby books. Maybe because her mother and sister were still living on the second floor of the Palace, hiding out from rebels, and they had all the practical knowledge America could ever possibly need to borrow. On the other hand, Maxon, only child and orphan, had to rely on the books for everything.

Maxon inhaled deeply, greedily taking in the scent of her hair. "Have I told you today how proud I am of you? For making this baby, for being the best Queen that Illéa has ever seen?"

"Not today." America grinned.

"I'm so proud of you, Ames. You amaze me."

"Good. No regrets about not marrying Bariel?"

Maxon winced horribly at the thought and pulled back to look at her, trying to determine if she was serious. It was getting hard to tell, with the hormones. The impish grin on her face was all the answer he needed to that question, and he tickled her ribs in response.

* * *

That afternoon, her appointment with Dr. Ashlar went very well. The baby was growing big and strong, America was putting on a very healthy amount of weight, and America and Maxon both got to stare at the live ultrasound image of their baby for several long minutes, just clutching each other's hands and grinning like idiots.

However, it was the news at the end of the appointment that caught Maxon's and America's attention the most.

"Next week you'll be exactly four months along, your Majesty." Dr. Ashlar smiled excitedly. "At sixteen weeks, this machine will be able to show us the sex of the baby."

America's jaw dropped. She'd never heard of such a thing. "Really?"

"Absolutely."

"Accurately?" America clarified. It sounded like magic, or like some old wives tale. Carrying low or high to approximate gender, drink a special homeopathic concoction to try for one or the other, and this: wave a magic wand on your belly at exactly 16 weeks, and know your baby's sex before it's born.

"It's one hundred percent accurate, your Majesty, the images of the baby are more than clear enough for us to get a good look around and see what we're working with." Dr. Ashlar smiled. Then he tilted his head to the side at the identically confounded expressions on Maxon's and America's faces. He tried to guess what they were thinking, "Of course, if you'd rather be surprised, we don't have to determine the sex next week. We can do it any time up until you give birth, your Majesty." Dr. Ashlar said, and when America and Maxon simply met each other's frozen gazes and blinked at this, he said, "I'll let you both discuss it. Just let me know what you've decided next week." and then he left the room with a quick bow to each of them.

America and Maxon were silent for a long moment, staring at the white walls of the examination room, and then at each other. They had a long, silent conversation with each other, involved, intricate, and complex. Did they want to know? Of course. Should they know? Maybe not. Should the advisers know? Definitely not. Should the country know? …Would that help?

Maxon was the first to speak, "This is a question for Stavros."

America nodded and slid off of the examination bed, straightening up her cream colored shirt and adjusting her pants to sit below her little belly. She still enjoyed the way her stomach poked out from the flat line of her shirt in an adorable little curve, but she was well aware that it wouldn't be long until that curve started dominating her whole petite frame. She grabbed Maxon's warm hand, "Let's go."

Ordinarily, they would have made an appointment with Maxon's chief adviser, the second busiest man in the Kingdom, but Maxon, America, and Stavros had long ago agreed that this amendment was more important than anything else they were doing, and they'd all made sacrifices accordingly. As such, there was _nothing _Stavros could have been working on that would have been more important than the question of if Maxon and America should find out the sex of their baby next week.

"Your Majesties." Stavros jumped to his feet when he saw who'd been knocking on his office door. "Please, come in." he came around his desk and ushered them to the formal sofas facing one another across an elegant ovular coffee table littered with a few odd memos and briefs.

Maxon and America joined him, sitting next to each other on the sofa he wasn't standing in front of, and then looking at each other, silently communicating about how best to go about asking this question.

Stavros nervously watched them, their eyes speaking volumes he'd never manage to hear, so as he sat across from them, he asked, "What can I do for the both of you?"

America spoke first, "I'll be four months along next week." She announced.

"Congratulations, ma'am." Stavros said, but she hadn't told him anything he wasn't already very aware of.

"Dr. Ashlar will be able to accurately determine the sex of the baby." America added, gravely.

Stavros nodded, and sank back into his sofa, thoughtfully. "I see."

"What's our best move, here, Stavros?" Maxon asked, anxiously.

Stavros didn't answer right away. "Well, sir… it's Illéan law that, the moment you learn the sex of your first born, you alert the advisers immediately. Just as her Majesty, the Queen had to alert you the moment she learned of its existence. So, if you find out next week, you'll have to tell us next week. And if you find out when it is born, you'll have to tell us then."

"Is that something we should be concerned about?"America asked. Her instincts were telling her that this could be a trap, but she was having a hard time figuring out how.

"Your child is safe and loved, your Majesty." Stavros assured her, right away. He was very careful and deliberate with the way he phrased the rest of his response. "That is true of all of your advisers. They love that baby and would die to protect it. However, not all of them _personally_ agree with the proposed amendment. Of course, they'll all work their hardest to bring it to fruition, if that's what the baby requires…" he didn't finish the thought, but there was some unspoken riddle about it.

"But if the baby doesn't _require_ this amendment, they'll let it drop?" America asked, uncertainly guessing at Stavros' meaning.

"They might not be quite so driven." Stavros allowed.

Maxon shook his head, "If the baby doesn't require it? …You mean, if it's a boy?"

Stavros sighed heavily, rubbed his smooth chin thoughtfully, and then clarified, "…I suspect, if the baby is a boy, there won't be the same sense of urgency in their work. I know these men, I know what drives them… There won't be the dedication and the fierce quality to their conviction, if the baby is a boy. It might be tempting to kick back. Try to pass the amendment next time around."

"That won't work." America objected immediately, meeting Stavros' eyes firmly. "It's the whole reason you wanted to go forward with the amendment now, anyway. Remember? There's only one 'first baby', the people will only love us this much once. They'll be happy next time, but it won't be the same. We won't be able to get the approval ratings we'd need to pass the amendment on a second baby."

"Exactly." Stavros nodded. "I couldn't have put it better myself. The advisers might well be aware of that, your Majesty… but if it's a boy, it could be tempting to view this amendment as a moot cause anyway. Irrelevant to this generation. Let your baby son and his advisers deal with it when he's ready to conceive an heir."

"If it's a girl," Maxon reasoned, "They'd work all the harder. If we find out that it's a girl next week, there'd be a fire under their feet for the next five months. We'd get work out of them the likes of which we've never seen."

"That's certainly true, too, sir." Stavros nodded.

"What about the people?" America asked. "If it's a girl, it could give them more time to get used to the idea of her inheriting the throne someday. They might come to the realization on their own, that she shouldn't get passed over by some younger brother someday. Gavril could plant the talking point out in the media, it wouldn't even have to come from the Palace, some television host could just casually mention how unfair it would be and start the discussion…"

"And if it's a boy, the 'we have an heir' stigma attached to gender will persist for another generation." Maxon frowned. "The conversation won't be, 'women should be able to inherit titles', the conversation will be 'thank goodness we're getting our boy'. "

Stavros intervened, "There's no reason you'd have to alert the people, your Majesties. They won't have to find out until the birth announcement. It's only the advisers you have to tell."

Maxon sighed and leant back, looking over at America. "This could be it, Ames. This could be the push we need. The advisers working harder than ever, and the people beginning to question the laws of inheritance on their own, without us prompting it."

"If it's a girl." America reminded him, placing her palm flat on her belly, then gently cupping her fingers around it. Her hand could still cover most of the bump that way. "If it's a boy, then that's it. Game over. We'll try again for our grandchildren, like Stavros said."

Maxon considered this. "I'll have my heir, either way, if we find out next week. Even if it is a boy…"

"In which case I'll be sure to tell our first born daughter about how glad her father was to have his 'heir, either way' as we're shipping her off to New Asia to marry a man she's never met." America snapped. "At the age of eighteen." she added, for good measure. And then, to drive the point home, "Do you think they'll make her produce _their _heirs right away, or will they give her a couple of years to finish maturing? Maybe Elise can advise us on that—"

"_Okay_, Ames." Maxon shook his head, grimly. "I shouldn't have said that. I get it."

"Do you?" she demanded.

"Yes. This amendment isn't only for our first baby. It's for all of our daughters, and all of their daughters." he sighed heavily. "And that's why we can't afford the gamble. We can't find out the sex of the baby next week. We need to wait until it's born."

America slowly nodded her agreement. "Yes. I think that's right. I wish we could, though…"

"It won't change my nursery design a bit, either way." he grinned a little. America smiled, too, thinking of the soft yellows and creams he was going to use as the color palette. He was already planning an enormous collage of photographs for the baby's walls, too, and he had a place of honor all planned out for that painting her father had died before finishing.

"I know. But it would be nice, just to know. To call it a 'him' or a 'her'… to narrow down our names list."

Maxon nodded and captured her hand in his. "What do you think, Stavros?"

"I agree with her Majesty, it would have been nice to know." He said, wistfully, and it was the grandfather in him talking now. But when he spoke again, he was reluctantly back to his adviser-self. "But I also agree that the risk is too great, and we've come too far. We are five months to the end of this campaign, and come the new year there will be a new heir for all of Illéa to celebrate. We cannot afford to lose sight of that now."

America had to agree. What was five more months of not knowing this baby's sex in the scheme of its life? There would be years and years of pronouns ahead of them, but for now it was much more important that they remained strategically ignorant.


	33. Chapter 33

"I have excellent news, your Majesty." Silvia curtseyed on her way into America's office.

"You've hired me a royal masseuse?" America guessed facetiously, rubbing the back of her aching neck. The baby simply did not agree with her spending all morning hunched over her desk reviewing German trade policies. It made its displeasure known through all sorts of various aches and pains, the most recent of which was a stabbing at America's brain stem.

Silvia paused, halfway through standing upright with a confused look on her face. "No, ma'am. ...Would you like one?"

America dropped her hand from her neck and gave it a wave to dismiss the idea. "It's Maxon's job." She reminded Silvia.

"Yes, ma'am, of course. Although..." Silvia paused and stood upright, moving forward to hover in front of America's desk, "His Majesty is very busy, you know, what with being King and all." Her tone was entirely jocular, Silvia had an amused look on her face and a twinkle in her grey eyes. She was in a very good mood that morning. "As with the cooking and the cleaning around the house, he might need to delegate a few tasks to the staff."

"His Majesty does not delegate _me_." America said stoutly, barely biting back a smile at the exchange. "Besides, I only make him tend me when we're off-the-clock. I leave him alone while we're working and let the staff look after me."

"His poor Majesty." Silvia chuckled.

"Oh, don't tell me you've switched over!" America laughed outright. "You're supposed to be on my side!"

"Of course I am, your Majesty. But the rumor was all over the Palace this morning. About how you made his Majesty trek down to the kitchens at four o'clock this morning and prepare for you a peanut butter and tomato grilled sandwich with a scoop of french vanilla ice cream on top."

"I stand by my choices." America grinned.

"Never mind that the staff were already on duty for the morning, beginning to prepare breakfast, and would have gladly spared the King the task if it meant he might achieve another hour of important rest."

"Maxon should have thought of that before bothering me to give him a baby, then." America said. "Then we could both be getting that extra hour of important rest."

Silvia shook her head, laughing, "You are hopeless, your Majesty. A lost cause."

"You always knew that about me, didn't you?" America winked. "Now, what was it you came here to tell me? Was it to bring me another tomato cheese sandwich dipped in ice cream?"

Silvia held back a shudder at the thought, "No, your Majesty. I came to share some very good news with you." She sat in the chair opposite America's desk.

"Then by all means..." America said. She could use a bit of good news on a reading-heavy day like the one she was having. Her limbs were practically heavy with boredom.

"Gavril shared with me some of the preliminary numbers from the latest approval polling."

"It's good?" America asked, hopefully.

"It's very good. His Majesty's approval ratings are up _five_ points from the last round of polling."

"_Five_?" America asked, stunned. "How is that possible?"

"The people are beginning to move on from the hostage crisis. Apparently that was holding his numbers back even more than we'd realized."

"That's amazing, Silvia!" America grinned. "What does this do to our joint numbers?"

"That polling data isn't in yet, but it's going to be good."

America grinned, taking in this encouraging but of news. "Um... Silvia?"

"Yes, your Majesty?"

"When, exactly, did Gavril happen to share this news with you? The two of you haven't had a meeting on the books all week."

Silvia blinked, then blushed, then worst of all, she actually stammered.

"Never mind!" America exclaimed. "Don't tell me."

Silvia nodded appreciatively. "He did, um, ask me to mention to you that you can't dodge _Report_ baby interviews forever and now would be the perfect time to further his Majesty's recovery in the eyes of the people by promoting his image as an expectant father."

"Right." America sighed. "Well, if it'll help Maxon. Tell Gavril we can do a pre-record this week."

"Excellent." Silvia smiled.

"And Silvia?"

"Yes, your Majesty?"

"You know that... Whatever is happening between you and Gavril... It's entirely your business, and none of mine or anyone else's but, Maxon and I would totally support it. You know that, right?"

Silvia cleared her throat and dropped her gaze, her cheeks the color of bright tomatoes. "Thank you, your Majesty."

"Right." America said brightly, in a tone that obviously moved on bravely from their last conversation. "So coordinate with Maxon's office on that pre-record, and let me know-"

"Of course." Silvia stood and immediately bobbed down into a curtsey, relieved to have an out from discussing her love life with the young Queen.

"Thank you, Silvia." America smiled.

Silvia all but dashed from the room.

* * *

There was a lounge on the third floor that had enormous floor-to-ceiling windows which let in all kinds glorious sunlight. Gavril had to lobby hard for permission to shoot the pre-record there, but he stubbornly insisted that there was no better location in all of Illéa for what they were trying to accomplish with this interview.

The third floor was a royal sanctuary, just the thought of inviting all of Illéa into the only place in the entire world where Maxon and America could truly be at peace was enough to bring tears to America's eyes. Gavril made the very good argument, however, that the citizens of Illéa wanted to be let into the royal's personal lives for this pregnancy, and letting them in using this controlled method was much better than having the paparazzi at the Palace gates with long lenses pointed at open windows intending to capture the truly private moments.

Maxon and America discussed it at length, lying in bed the night before the interview. Maxon offered to move the shoot to the gardens, to the ballroom, to film it in the usual _Report_ set, but America knew enough about public relations to know that Gavril was, as always, exactly right.

And it wasn't as though images of the third floor had never found their way out of the Palace before. People knew it existed and even had some idea what some of the rooms looked like, but this would be the first time in history that video for public broadcast would be recorded in the royal family's private space.

America and Maxon sat side by side in an alcove next to the lounge where the interview was about to be recorded. For three hours only, the ban on entering the third floor uninvited was lifted and America's private sanctuary was flooded with camera crew and lighting specialists and Gavril, setting up the shots. It was an upsetting sight to say the least, for a pregnant woman.

Mary was putting the finishing touches on America's makeup and Esther was dusting Maxon's face with a light powder so that his skin wouldn't shine on camera. Kenna was paying them a visit at Maxon's request, making lighthearted chitchat to fill the tense silence and removing the burden of conversation from America's shoulders. America could not have been more grateful to her husband and her sister than she was in that moment, as Kenna worked her magic to practically melt the tension away.

"I don't know, Ames, you're pretty small for four months." Kenna said, eyeing America's belly suspiciously. "Are you and Maxon sure about that conception date?"

Mary was doing America's eyeliner, so America couldn't move her face, but her blue eyes darted over to the chair where Maxon sat, to find him blushing as Esther attempted to tame his honey blond curls.

"Fairly sure." Maxon squeaked, and then cleared his throat heavily to regain control of his voice.

America smiled, "There was this meeting with Stavros in Maxon's office… we got a bit of good news. We couldn't help ourselves."

Kenna shook her head, looking equally amused and dismayed, "America Singer Schreave. Tell me the heir to the throne of Illéa wasn't conceived on the couch in Maxon's office."

Maxon choked at these words, and over his hacking cough America laughed and replied, in a scandalized tone, "Honestly, Kenna, what must you think of us to suggest such things?" Then, when Mary stepped back to replace the eyeliner pencil in the makeup case, America leant toward her sister and said, in a stage whisper, "It was his desk."

Maxon bolted up out of his seat, cheeks blazing red as America and Kenna laughed. He ripped down the thin white tissue paper that had been protecting his starched collar from powder and stray hairs, balled it up in his tight, nervous fists, and stammered, "I-I-I, uh, um, I'm, I'll… Gavril." And he all but bolted back into the main lounge area.

"Honestly, your Majesty." Mary chastised, though her eyes glittered with merriment, "You shouldn't embarrass his Majesty like that."

"He's so easily flustered, Mary, it's too much fun." America defended.

"One can always get a good reaction out of Maxon." Kenna agreed.

"His father raised him to have an unflappable expression in the face of violent, brutal war, but taught him nothing about composure when it comes to talk of sex." America sighed.

"Even so." Mary insisted, but without much conviction. She'd very much enjoyed seeing Maxon so adorably flustered.

She came back over to the put the finishing touches on America's curls and America grinned, "There was a morning last weekend, May came into my room to ask to borrow one of my bras, one of the ones that don't really fit me anymore." America gossiped. It was true, she was a full cup size larger than she had been before becoming pregnant, which had led May to believe that it was now open-season on anything America couldn't wear anymore, including royal brassieres. What kind of little sister could pass up the opportunity to raid a closet like the Queen's, in all honesty?

"Yeah?" Kenna egged her on.

"Well, of course, Maxon was laying right there next to me when she came in and asked for it. He _died_, Ken, that's a zombie King in there. He was mortified to think of 'May' and 'underwear' as coexisting in the same universe."

Kenna laughed, "You need to give him daughters. Lots of daughters, Ames, and then wait until they become teenaged girls."

"A perpetually bumbling, adorably embarrassed King is what this country needs at its helm, is it?" America laughed, too.

Gavril popped his head around the corner. "Five minutes, your Majesty?" he asked.

"Fine." America nodded, and Gavril disappeared again to finalize microphone settings and white balance the images on camera.

"He's going to be a wonderful father." Kenna said, in all seriousness. "I know we've talked about it before, but it's true. He's already a wonderful uncle, he positively dotes on Astra now that she's living here in the Palace with him. I sat there and watched him sneak her an extra chocolate from the dessert tray at dinner last night, and couldn't find it in my heart to object, the way Astra was gazing up and him and the warm little smile on his face looking back down at her."

"Yeah, I have the sneaking suspicion that his parenting technique is going to involve a lot of under-the-table chocolate exchanges." America sighed. "We'll probably get into more than one argument about it." In all honesty, this was something that had been worrying her a lot lately, as she got farther into this pregnancy.

"You're anti-chocolate?" Kenna grinned.

"How dare you?" America joked, laughing at the very thought, "I love chocolate more than I love you."

"Probably." Kenna agreed.

"I only meant that Maxon isn't going to make much of a disciplinarian. He's soft, Ken, he's got a weakness for children and a few particularly painful memories of being disciplined that he'd rather avoid reliving. And that means that I'm going to be the tough one, the 'mean mom'—"

"Maxon would never let you become the 'mean mom', America." Kenna reassured her.

"How do you and James do it?" America asked, softly.

"The same way you and Maxon will. As best we can. We talk a lot, we agree on the rules and the punishments for breaking those rules, and we both enforce as consistently as we can. Sometimes Astra does something that we don't see coming, don't have a pre-agreed punishment lined up for. All that matters then is that we support each other in whatever the other says or does, until Astra's out of the room or down for a nap and we can review and decide if we did it right. It's a team effort, though, Ames, and you and Maxon make a great team."

"Not so great with the communication, though." America frowned. "It sounds like that's an important part of making this all work."

"You've gotten a lot better." Kenna objected.

"Yeah."

"It won't be perfect, it'll almost never be perfect, but as long as you stick together as a team, you shouldn't have anything to worry about, America. Maxon adores you, he won't let you become the 'mean mom'. You'd never let him become the 'mean dad' would you?"

"Of course not."

"Your kids are going to love you, America. Don't worry about— Your nose is bleeding." Kenna ended abruptly.

"My what?" America asked, confused by the sudden shift in her older sister's sentence, but even as she said the words she felt a warm, telltale trickle on her upper lip.

"Here." Kenna leant forward in her seat and grabbed several tissues off of the table next to them. She handed the wad to her sister and said, "Lean forward."

America did as she was told, and Kenna got Mary's attention, who rushed over with a towel to protect America's dress from stray splats of blood.

"I've never had a nosebleed before." Even America heard the twinge of anxiety in her own voice.

"You're alright." Kenna rubbed her back soothingly. "It doesn't hurt, does it?"

"No."

"It'll be over soon, don't worry." Kenna said. "Mary, you should tell Gavril that the Queen is going to need an extra five minutes to touch up her makeup and get into place, once the bleeding stops."

"Of course." Mary nodded, briskly rounding the corner to hunt down her quarry.

"You're such a good big sister, Kenna." America admired, as Kenna continued to rub soothing circles on America's back.

"You make it easy, Ames." Kenna admitted. "You always made me want to be a good big sister to you, from the second you were born."

"Thanks for the girl talk today." America's words were nasally and clipped, as she waited for the bleeding to stop. "I really needed a few uncomplicated minutes."

"I live here, Ames. I'm always here for you. I mean, _actually _always here." Kenna said, humor unable to hide the concern in her tone. It was an unspoken invitation. 'Come to me with all of your worries because I love you and I'm happy to listen'.

America sighed, thought it through, weighed the pros and cons, and then finally confessed what had been at the back of her mind for almost a week now, "Maxon and I have the chance to find out if the baby is a boy or a girl on Friday."

"What? America, that's amazing! How?"

"There's a machine. The same one that takes the images we've shown you of the baby." America paused, and Kenna handed her fresh tissues which she switched out for the bloody bunch in her hand. She glared at her shoes as she continued, "But we're not going to do it."

"...You're not?" Kenna asked, hesitantly.

"No."

"Why not?"

"...The advisers... the law... the citizens..." America blinked, heavily, her eyes stinging with tears. "I just wanted _one_ thing to be easy. Just one part of this pregnancy to be ours, exactly the way we want it. We have to poll every decision we make right now, personal or professional, to figure out how it will make people feel about us. Everything, from my hair to my words are carefully sculpted to work towards changing that stupid law that never should have been there in the first place. I'm here, with all of these strangers in my home, invading my private space... I gave up clinics, I gave up education, and now I'm giving this up, too. I know it's silly, a luxury that I'm missing out on, not a necessity, but… what if I _want _to stock up on baby hair bows or toy soldiers? What if I just want to fall asleep at night whispering lullabies and be able to insert 'baby girl' or 'baby boy' into the words, instead of 'baby mine'?"

Kenna's expression was pure sympathy. "It never gets to be easy, does it?"

"No." America sniffled. She already felt better, just having gotten all of that off of her chest.

"You're brave and strong, America, and this is not the thing that will break you." Kenna reminded her. "You might have a meltdown later, but not for this. If we were at home in Carolina, you wouldn't know what the gender was either."

"I wouldn't have the choice."

"Apparently, you don't have the choice here."

"Being royal is _not_ what it's cracked up to be." America sighed, heavily.

Kenna nodded, and then placed a warm finger under America's chin. "Let me look at that nose, see how it's doing."

As Kenna peered curiously up America's left nostril, forcefully reminding America of times when she had been a small child and Kenna was the one to bandage up her scraped knees or elbows, Maxon appeared around the corner and cried, "God, America! You're bleeding!"

"She's alright, Maxon." Kenna assured him, without sparing him a glance. "I think it's stopped now. Let's give it another minute to be sure."

"I should send someone for Dr. Ashlar. We should cancel the interview. We'll record it later-"

"Maxon, I'm really fine." America promised.

"But-"

Kenna assisted, "It's a pregnancy nosebleed, Maxon, I got about a thousand of them while I was pregnant with Astra. It's perfectly normal. America's healthy, the baby is healthy, I _promise_. Soak America in a long, steamy bath tonight, it'll help keep them at bay."

Maxon swore and knelt down next to America, clutching her free hand like a lifeline. He genuinely couldn't stomach the sight of her blood, in his eyes she'd basically just been shot again. "Why didn't anyone warn us it would be like this?"

"It wouldn't have changed anything." America reminded him, soothingly. "It won't change anything. It's vomity, bloody, hungry, exhausting work, but we're going to fill this Palace with babies if it's the last thing we do."

Maxon shook his head, looking up at her with a warm, awed expression. Once again she'd said something to merit his admiration.

When America was finally camera-ready, Gavril was waiting patiently, reading through a stack of notecards filled with his carefully prepared interview questions in an old armchair propped attractively at an angle with a love-seat where America and Maxon were meant to sit. They were against the walls opposite the windows to allow as much natural light to filter through as possible. There was a beautiful painting of the Angeles skyline on the wall, though only half of it would be in-frame for the citizens of Illéa to view.

Every single detail about the interview was a conscious choice on Gavril's part to subconsciously convey to the citizens a sense of fondness and national pride. The exact shade of blue and cut of America's dress, blue because it's what she wore during the Selection when Maxon and the rest of Illéa had fallen in love with her, but draped just so over her belly to remind them of the future she was creating for them all. And Maxon's suit, no tie, top buttons of his shirt undone and no jacket. He was supposed to look like he'd just been working very hard (therefore no one but him could possibly do the job he does so stop trying to overthrow him, rebels), but he's no longer working and, because he's such a good family man, he's now enjoying a casual afternoon with his expectant wife (and Gavril, and the _Report _crew, and all of Illéa).

There was flower vase on the small end table between Gavril's chair and Maxon and America's love-seat. America had never seen that vase before, it must have been brought in just for this interview. It was beautiful crystal, displaying the green stems of the lovely flowers it held and watered (flowers for growth and new life, stems as the support system for that new life, and the water that fed them all. America, Maxon, and the Citizens of Illéa respectively).

Gavril himself was not immune. He wore a fake pair of prop glasses to give himself a sober but kind grandfatherly aura for this interview, and he wore a silver tie designed to bring out the subtle streaks of grey in his hair that he usually did all in his power to conceal. "Are you ready to go, your Majesty?" Gavril asked, standing when he saw America and Maxon approach.

America took her seat between Gavril and her husband, and Maxon joined her. "Yes, Gavril, thank you for your patience." she said, rubbing her nose to check one more time for blood. She knew it was gone, but the experience of having her first ever nosebleed had left her with a strong visceral echo in her body.

Maxon smiled over at America almost dopily, for a moment too long. "What?" America asked. Maybe he saw the blood?

Maxon tried to bite down his smile and failed absurdly. "You're glowing, my love."

America tilted her head to the side and looked down at her exposed forearms. Nothing phosphorescent about them at all. "No, I'm not."

"Yes, you are." Maxon chuckled, shaking his head. "This is the first time I've noticed it, but you're definitely glowing."

"It's the lighting." America objected.

"I know what you look like in sunlight, Ames." he reminded her, then he leant forward and pressed a kiss to her cheek, careful not to smudge her makeup. "You, my stunning wife, are pregnant with my child and glowing about it." This thought seemed to make him practically giddy.

After a long moment, Gavril shook his head from his seat, "You couldn't have waited until the cameras started rolling to have that gorgeous interaction?" he demanded of Maxon. "You had better still have some good stuff saved up for the interview."

"I do." Maxon promised with a laugh, tapping his head with a finger to indicate that all the good stuff was stored up in his head.

"Alright then. I'll forgive you, this time." Gavril teased, as one of his assistants rushed forward to take the notecards full of questions from his hands. "Let's get quiet on the set, please." Gavril commanded, and it wasn't a request. The general murmur that accompanies thirty people being in the same large room died at once, no one finished their sentences, or even their words. One could have heard a pin drop. Only Maxon could have done a better job of controlling a room, and he had the benefit of being the King of Illéa.

"Ready when you are, Gavril." A man standing behind three portable television screens called. The screens showed live feed of what the three video cameras were recording, a shot of Gavril, head to toe, a shot of America and Maxon together, head to toe (and most importantly, in America's case, stomach to toe), and a wider shot of all three of them together.

"Let's roll sound and video, and someone get this slated." Gavril commanded.

A woman in a tight grey suit and a precarious pair of matching heels walked into the middle of the room, blocking America, Maxon, and Gavril from the sight of the cameras. She was on each and every one of the little portable televisions screens, but all from different angles. She held a black slate in her hands, on it was written the date, the tentative title of the segment, 'King Maxon/ Queen America baby interview one', and several letters and numbers that America did not know the meaning of.

A man standing behind the middle camera nodded to a man behind the camera on the left and a man behind the camera on the right, and they nodded back. He announced, "Rolling." in a clear tone.

The woman snapped a top strip of slate, attached by a hinge down onto itself with a loud click to help the editors sync the audio and video later on when they were putting the two together before airing the interview. She walked back out of the shot and Gavril turned to Maxon and America. "We're ready to go, your Majesties."

"Very good." Maxon said, with a nod.

"This is just a casual conversation between you and me." Gavril reminded them, omitting every other person in the country, and possibly in several other countries as well, who would be listening in on this 'casual' conversation. America took a deep, nervous breath.

"We're ready." America assured him with all of the confidence she didn't possess.

Gavril nodded, took a moment to adjust his own posture and run through the questions one more time in his head, then he looked up at America and Maxon with a warm, welcoming, and not entirely fake smile. "King Maxon, Queen America, thank you both so much for inviting me over today."

"Our pleasure as always, Gavril." Maxon lied. If it had only been Gavril, it might have been a pleasure, but this wasn't just Gavril. This was a circus. This was a host of strangers invading a pregnant woman's nest. America gulped, trying to ease the tension out of her body at the very thought.

"Your Majesty," Gavril turned his head ever so slightly to indicate America, "It's been almost a month since you shared your exciting news with us, can you believe it?"

"The time has flown by." America said, mechanically.

"May I say, you're looking positively radiant." Gavril smiled, and Maxon gave her a very superior sort of 'I told you so' look.

"Thank you, Gavril, Maxon was just telling me the same thing." That was deftly done, America commended herself. She wasn't yet relaxed enough to give an in-depth answer with any ease, and she couldn't afford to come across as tense in front of the entire country, so she turned the attention back to her husband to buy herself a few more moments to sink into this interview.

And it worked. Gavril took the bait, no problem. "How has it been, King Maxon? Preparing for fatherhood?"

"So exciting, Gavril." Maxon beamed. "Sometimes, if I'm having trouble falling asleep at night, I'll walk into the nursery, which is still in a bit of a disused, empty state, and just stare at it. Scheme. I know, in my head, where the crib will go, where the dresser full of tiny baby clothes will go, where my mother's rocking chair will go. I'm just _so_ excited, Gavril."

America smiled, eyes misting faintly at the thought. She hadn't realized that Maxon had been having trouble sleeping, nor that he filled his quiet hours in the empty nursery, dreaming. It almost made her feel bad for waking him so often with various miscellaneous food demands. Almost.

"And how about you, your Majesty?" Gavril asked America. "Are you excited?"

America considered this with a tilt of her head. "I think 'ready' might be more the word for me. As much as anyone can be ready, I'm ready for this baby to be here. To hold and feed and soothe it. To know it by its name. I'm also nervous and worried, like any first time mother. And, of course, tired, hungry, achy, moody, and puffy, like any expectant mother." America grinned, and Gavril bestowed a smile upon her for this. "'Excited' is definitely the word to describe Maxon's energy." she reflected. "He's intensely eager and happy, he's like a child awaiting Christmas morning."

"America's sensibility _is_ much more muted." Maxon agreed with her. "I think it's because she's already so physically engaged with the baby, all the time. She doesn't have to wait for it to be here. We're both equally happy, we're loving this whole experience, but I have to wait for the baby to be here before I can touch any part of it, and she's already actively involved. I think that accounts for the differences in our moods. I'm lucky, though, our queen puts up with me. Sometimes I drive her to the brink of insanity with my excitement for this baby." Maxon grinned, guiltily.

"In case you haven't noticed," America slipped her hand into his, looking over into Maxon's brown eyes. "I don't really mind."

Gavril nodded between the two of them, very pleased at the display. This was the stuff smash-hit interviews were made of. "Ah, but King Maxon," Gavril protested lightheartedly, "The word around the Palace is that our queen has kept you more than 'actively involved' in this process."

Maxon rubbed a hand at the back of his neck sheepishly, "I think I know to what you are referring, Gavril, and I only ask that you not get me in any trouble with my wife."

America looked between the men for a moment and then feinted a frown, "Is this about my middle-of-the-night snacks again?"

"Yes, ma'am." Gavril chuckled.

America shook her head, "Honestly, the way my assistants and the maids have been carrying on about it, you'd think they begrudge an expectant mother her snacks."

"Oh, no, ma'am." Gavril shook his head, pretending to be aghast. "Never! We absolutely insist that you eat your fill. It's really more to do with… the way that you acquire these midnight snacks. We've never seen anything like it in the royal family."

Maxon sighed heavily, "You'd better fill the people at home in on just what we're talking about here, Gavril."

"Yes, sir." Gavril agreed and then turned to the camera for the first time during the interview, "For those of you at home, allow me to let you in on a bit of Palace gossip. Our queen has been waking our king up at all hours of the night to rouse him from bed and send him down to the kitchens for any manner of odd snacks. And she will not summon a maid to bring them for her, she insists our king wait on her—"

"As he should." America cut in.

"Oh, yes, ma'am." Gavril deferred.

"I really don't mind it." Maxon said, bashfully. "It's about the only useful thing I can do for her right now. Wait on her hand and foot."

"You're not so bad at neck massages, either, your Majesty." America winked at him.

"It's wonderful, your Majesties, but just a little unprecedented." Gavril chuckled.

Maxon nodded his agreement, "It's hard to see my grandfather making midnight runs to the kitchens for brown mustard and toast. Just brown mustard and toast, mind you, nothing else." he chuckled.

"Your father would have made quite the sight, in some kind of fuzzy robe and matching slippers, returning from the kitchens in the middle of the night with a plate full of anchovies and yogurt." Gavril supposed.

Maxon winced, "Anchovies and yogurt? Is _that_ what my mother craved?"

"Anchovies and yogurt…" America mused. "Anchovies _in_ yogurt!" she said brightly, as if she'd cracked some secret code.

"Oh, no you don't. I draw the line. Anchovies are repulsive. I'd gag as soon as I smelled them, I'd never manage to make it all the way back to our room with any." Maxon said, and America laughed.

"We'll see." she allowed.

Maxon shook his head at her and returned his attention to Gavril, "My father didn't likely make many kitchen runs himself, it's true, but he showed his support and affection for my mother in hundreds of other little ways. He might not have fetched the plate of—" Maxon winced, "Anchovies and yogurt himself, but I guarantee that the moment my mother woke up with the craving, the plate was already waiting for her at her bedside. He was uncanny, knowing what she'd want before she wanted it. I require a bit more direction, so I'm more than happy to have America wake me up and send me on my merry way at 3:30 in the morning."

Gavril grinned over at him, "That's absolutely heart-warming, sir. You two certainly are still the couple Illéa fell in love with." Then, as if the thought had only just occurred to him, and hadn't been written out and studied for days on his notecards, Gavril asked, "What is the strangest craving you've had so far, Queen America?"

America considered this with a smile, "None of them seem strange to me. I mean, I'm able to see logically that, yes, objectively, tomatoes and peanut butter don't usually go together. Particularly in an omelette." Maxon and Gavril both laughed at that. "But they all taste so right to me, it's difficult to tell myself that they're wrong."

"Oh, Love, they're not wrong." Maxon reassured her. "They can't be wrong if they make you happy. But strange? Definitely strange."

"King Maxon, what's been her strangest request of you?"

"Well, Gavril, I'll tell you. I thought I was still dreaming." Maxon began and Gavril laughed heartily at that. "It was a little after 2 o'clock, almost Sunday morning."

"This past Sunday?" Gavril asked, amazed.

"The very same." Maxon nodded. "America tapped me very sweetly on the shoulder and said, softly, in my ear, 'Maxon', and who wouldn't awaken at such an enticing prompting?"

"Who indeed?" Gavril agreed. "So you woke right up?"

"Thinking, perhaps, she wanted to speak with me about something. Now that she's pregnant, she'll wake me up for food, but before the baby she'd often wake me up at the same hours for conversation."

"Do you miss that?" America asked, curiously.

"Not as much as I miss sleep." Maxon answered so sincerely that America had to laugh. "'What is it, dear?' I asked." Maxon returned to the story, and Gavril was leant slightly forward in his chair, eager to hear what Maxon would say next. "'I'm hungry.' The angelic little voice next to me entreated softly."

"Maxon." America warned. He was getting too flowery, almost mocking in his story. And the people wouldn't like it if he used too many words they didn't understand.

Maxon nodded toward her, took the warning, and continued, "I would do anything for our queen."

"We all know that well, sir." Gavril assured him.

"So I asked her what I could get for her. Are you ready?" Maxon asked.

"Very much so." Gavril smiled.

"Ham, cheese, and mustard." Maxon said simply, and then he landed the punchline, "Ice cream." He paused for effect and shook his head, chuckling. "She wanted ham, cheese, and mustard ice cream. That's ice cream, like we might know it. Chocolate, vanilla, strawberry… but she wanted it flavored after ham, cheese, and mustard. Now, I know I'm the King, but not even I can command into existence such a strange flavor at such a strange hour. But my queen required it. What was I to do?"

"I don't have a clue."

Maxon sighed and ran a hand through his gorgeous blonde hair, shifting over in his seat to lean slightly closer to America. He released her hand and wrapped his arm around her, "I'll tell you what I did, I'm rather proud of my middle-of-the-night brain for thinking of it. I took the as-yet-unflavored ice cream that our chef keeps in the freezers during the summer months and placed it in the slow churner that is used to add the flavoring. When I was ten years old or so, as a treat, the kitchen staff showed me how they made my favorite fresh chocolate fudge ice cream each time I asked for it, and I retained some of what they taught me."

"So what did you do to create Queen America's confection?" Gavril asked.

"I added a full half a cup of brown mustard to the churner, that's what I did. All of the sudden, I had her mustard ice cream. I dropped in a couple of handfuls of diced ham and shredded cheese and called it good. I still wonder what the kitchen staff thought when they came in a few hours later to find the ice cream churner full of mustard and ham and cheese."

"Oh, they knew." America shook her head. "They always know."

"And how was the ice cream, ma'am?" Gavril asked, breathless.

"Magnificent. It was exactly what I'd dreamed of. The baby was very pleased, and I think, impressed with its father."

"Really?" Maxon asked, sweetly. He knew the baby wasn't really capable of being impressed with him yet, but it went well with the narrative that he and the baby could have long conversations and enjoy the same genre of movie already.

"Very much so." America said, affectionately. "Sometimes I think I get these increasingly bizarre cravings because the baby is testing you. Trying to find out if you're really as great a King as everyone says."

Maxon grinned at this, his cheeks flushing slightly. He always loved it when she complimented his leadership in front of other people.

"Well, Queen America, have you had any thoughts about what gender the baby might be?" Gavril asked.

America's chest clenched, because this question did nothing but remind her that she had the chance to know for sure what sex her baby was, but she wouldn't be able to take it. Because of these people and their stupid laws.

Well, that wasn't fair. It was really her husband's dumb ancestor's stupid laws, imposed on these people.

She sighed. "I haven't really had any gut instinct, either way. My mother swears it's a boy because of the way that I'm carrying."

"See, I think it's a girl." Maxon objected. "America has been nothing but challenged by this pregnancy, she was very ill in her first trimester, and she's always very tired and hungry, and the cravings really are an adventure. An easy baby would hardly ever make his mother sick or exhausted or crave flavors of ice cream that don't exist. I think this baby is a girl, and she's going to be just as big a handful as her mother, just as strong-willed and—"

"Selfish?" America challenged. That's what he was making it sound like.

"Maybe a little demanding." Maxon concluded, with a gentle smile and an equally gentle kiss pressed to her temple. "Maybe she'll be the kind of princess to send her father to the kitchens in the middle of the night for omelettes?"

"So girls are high-maintenance and boys are easygoing?" America demanded. "Is that what you're trying to tell me, and all of Illéa?"

"Maybe not." Maxon backpedalled quickly. "Maybe it's just wishful thinking on my part. I might like a little girl who's just as fiery and full of surprises as you are."

America tried very hard not to smile at this and failed. The image of Maxon with just such a little girl in his arms was overwhelming. "We don't know, Gavril." America said, finally looking back at the man in the chair next to them. "But we do know that the baby is healthy and strong and _growing_." she placed a hand on her little tummy to indicate that.

"In that case, we have much to celebrate and be thankful for." Gavril said. "Thank you both for sitting down with me today."

It was over, Gavril was wrapping up the interview.

"It's always a pleasure, Gavril." Maxon said. "We'll certainly make sure to do this again soon."

There was a long pause, and then the man behind the screens called "Cut!"

Gavril reached out his hand to shake Maxon's and said, "Do you two have any idea how easy my job has become since you took over?"

"That was alright, then?" America asked.

"Oh, your Majesty." Gavril almost laughed. "You were both honest and funny, and we got to see a handful of totally unguarded moments between yourself and his Majesty, exactly the way you are when there are no cameras around. It was magic. Screen magic."

America suspected Gavril was exaggerating, but she didn't press him on the issue, he was already up and commanding the film crew as they cleaned up and moved out.

America turned to Maxon and leant into his embrace. "Speaking of cravings—" she began.

"Milk?" he guessed.

"How did you know?" America blushed. She felt thoroughly chastised after the interview they'd just had.

"You had a 'milk' look on your face." he smiled and then pecked a kiss to her lips. "How about this, since it's still work hours, let's have a _maid_ bring us a pitcher of ice cold milk and something to snack on."

"Are you tired of bringing me food?" America asked, genuinely worried that she'd pushed him too hard.

"No! I was only thinking that we could use the time to change into our bathing suits, instead of trekking to the kitchen, and then we could spend our afternoon at the indoor pool, since we don't want you spending too much time out in the sun."

"The pool." America smiled. "But none of my one-piece bathing suits fit over this belly."

"Oh, no!" Maxon pretended. "You mean I'll have to ogle my wife in a two-piece suit all afternoon? With full, unobstructed view of our baby bump? How will I survive?"

America laughed and shook her head, "I don't suppose it'll bother you at all that my bathing suit tops are a little snug now that I've gone up a cup size?" Maxon's eyes glazed over at the very thought, and he stared at her dress-clad chest, already imagining it. "Right. I didn't think so." America chuckled.

Kenna came over from the alcove where she'd been standing and pressed a kiss to America's forehead. "That was great, you guys."

Maxon blinked heavily, then focused in on his sister-in-law. "Thanks."

"Thanks for being here, Ken." America said.

"What are sisters for?" Kenna demurred.

Maxon spoke up, "Hey, Ames and I are going for a swim at the indoor pool, you should bring Astra and James down."

"That sounds fun." Kenna smiled. "I'll see if May and Gerad want to come along, too."

"I have a hard time imagining Gerad refusing an opportunity to spend some free time with Maxon." America smiled.

"But May has been gravitating toward the outdoor pool to work on her tan. She might take some convincing." Kenna shrugged, "But it's worth asking."

"An afternoon with my husband and my family at the pool?" America asked. She shook her head at Maxon, disbelieving. "What did I do to deserve you, Max?"

"Well," he said, as if he was telling the story to Astra, "You filled out these application forms, see? And you turned them into your local Province Services office. You let them take a very pretty picture of you, and then you entered a raffle…"

Kenna groaned at this attempt at humor and America stood, rolling her eyes. "Okay, will someone please assassinate the King?"


	34. Chapter 34

America was dreaming. She hadn't been dreaming before, but now, suddenly, she was, and it made her aware that, not only was she asleep, but she was also dreaming. The earth was tilting all around her, gravity was misbehaving, and her face was being pelted with soft, hot marshmallows.

She really wanted some marshmallows, actually. She was hungry, and marshmallows would go a long way towards soothing that, particularly soft, hot marshmallows. Maybe she should try to wake up so that she could ask Maxon to bring her some hot cocoa with marshmallows. Oh! Or add the marshmallows to a mustard sandwich, that would be amazing, and it wouldn't take Maxon too long to fetch.

Maxon. It was Maxon's birthday.

And, actually, the more she thought about it, the more she realized that she wasn't dreaming. The earth wasn't tilting, just the bed as Maxon shifted around so that he was hovering over her with an arm on either side of her body. And no one was pelting her face with hot marshmallows, those were kisses.

"What?" America mumbled.

"I'm older." Maxon bragged.

"Congratulations." America yawned.

"You're to let me have my way with you in celebration." Maxon reminded her.

"Oh, you don't want to do that." America informed him.

"I don't?" he asked, amused.

"Mmm, no. You want to snuggle up and wait for sunrise."

"And _then _have my way with you?"

"No, then we eat red velvet pancakes and get ready for the day."

"Why should we have to get ready? I demanded a naked party this year." he reminded her.

"Yes, but Jepsen overruled you." she tugged him down so that he lay half atop her, his nose pressed against the side of her face.

"He can't do that!"

"Naked parties weren't in the budget." America mumbled, breathing him in.

"Damn. I'm raising taxes."

"Okay." America yawned, curling her arms around him to draw him, if possible, closer to her as she tried to drift back to sleep.

Maxon shifted so that the majority of his weight was off of her and then he traced the curve of her hip with his fingers as he murmured, "You know, one of these years, we're going to go away for my birthday. No major social events, no work. Just you and me… and a cabin in the mountains. Or a house on the beach."

"And a baby?" America asked with a smile on her lips, reminding him that their chances for romantic getaways were fleeting.

"Hm. I suppose that's what your mother is for." Maxon reasoned.

"To join us in beach houses or woodland cottages?"

"No." Maxon nuzzled her cheek. "To watch the baby."

"I'd complain that it's not her job to watch our baby, but I already know that she'd love to." America sighed, wiping her eyes and giving up on falling back asleep. Having these quiet moments with Maxon was infinitely better than any dreams her brain could conjure, anyway.

"Too bad it'll be so long until you can be away from the baby, once it's born." Maxon mused.

"Mhmm. Breastfeeding puts one on a short leash." America agreed.

"We should go away before it gets here."

"Yeah?" She always liked to hear him talk about spending extra time with her. They hadn't gone out of town for a vacation since their honeymoon.

"Let's go to Carolina, Ames." Maxon whispered excitedly as the thought occurred to him. "We never got to go!"

They'd tried to go, once Maxon and America were engaged. Maxon had wanted to pay his respects to America's father, and to see the house where America grew up, but Kota owned that house and firmly refused to allow them onto the property.

"I don't know, honey…" America sighed.

"I know you miss it. I know you're still homesick for Carolina, Ames—"

"_You__'__re_ my home now." She reminded him, forcefully.

"I know that, too." he said with a little smile. He liked to be reminded.

"Good."

"But you're still allowed to miss Carolina. And I'm desperate to see it, I haven't been since before it gave me my precious, precious wife."

"I just… going all the way back to Carolina, and not being able to see the house… I think that might be worse than never going back again." she said. "It would hurt so much."

"You should write to Kota. It's been a few years, and things have changed. Perhaps he's softened, now."

"I don't know." America mumbled.

"Either way, it's past time we pay your father a visit. Bring fresh flowers for his grave. Tell him about that painting of his that we're hanging up in the nursery. Tell him about the baby, too. Your family might really appreciate the opportunity to spend some time there, as well. How long has it been since Kenna, James, and Astra all got to go back and visit James' family at once?"

"They never have." America conceded.

"And how well do you think Gerad remembers his home province?"

America frowned at this. "Not well at all."

"We should take him, America." He said, eagerly. "Maybe we can get Aspen and Lucy on board, too. Baby Meri should see where her father comes from."

"This is sounding less and less like a romantic getaway." America reminded him.

"Hm. Well, that's because I haven't gotten to the part where I whisk you away to a cottage in the Carolina woods and ravish you day and night for a week."

"Wow, a _week_?" America laughed. "Day _and_ night? You're optimistic about our stamina, aren't you?"

"I also plan to stake my claim to that infernal treehouse I've heard so much about."

America laughed, "No, Maxon."

"No?" he whined.

"If you want stolen treehouse kisses like I had with Aspen, you're going to need to build your own treehouse. You can't take his."

Maxon considered this and heaved a heavy sigh through his nose, reveling in the smell of her and tickling her cheek with his breath as it exhaled. "You know what? Our baby is going to need a treehouse anyway."

America laughed, "And once he or she is a teenager, we'll be posting a guard there night and day to keep the suitors away."

"I like the way you think, woman." he growled throatily, rolling over to hover above her again. "Now I'm going to have my way with you."

"Are you?" America giggled.

"Yes, with your consent." he amended.

America laughed, "Alright, then."

* * *

It was a very busy day for America. She knew Maxon preferred small, quiet gatherings despite all of his jokes about naked parties, and so America had gone out of her way this year to throw him two parties. One was the usual enormous state function, with various province leaders, advisers, and celebrities. The other was going to be a surprise for him, a little lunch on the third floor, just the two of them, Aspen and Lucy, and Carter and Marlee.

The planning that went into any kind of surprise for the King of Illéa was bordering on absurd. Luckily, America had an ally in Stavros. She made sure that the King's chief adviser had a strategy meeting scheduled with the King for the two hours of Maxon's surprise party, and at the last minute he was going to cancel and hurry off to an imaginary budget meeting instead. This would free Maxon up, and he would immediately head back to the third floor to find his wife, and in finding her, he'd find his surprise.

America was pretty pleased with her own ingenuity, putting it all together. She wished, for Maxon's sake, that he could celebrate his birthday as he saw fit, but not even his actual birth was a private, close family and friends event. It was accompanied by an enormous parade and a national holiday and a celebration the likes of which most of Illéa had never known before, or so America had been told by her mother.

Sweet, considerate, wonderful Maxon fell into America's trap with absolutely no trouble. He would never dream of getting an afternoon off and not spending it with his wife, which warmed her heart to no end.

"Ames!" he called, announcing his approach to the very same lounge where they'd filmed the _Report_ segment the previous week. "Guess wha-" he froze at the sight of their four friends and a messy, hand-made banner they'd all collaborated on, then strung up on the wall, reading 'Happy Birthday, Maxon!' He blinked, taking it all in. "I... what-"

"Surprise." America said, simply, from her seat on a very comfortable couch near one of the giant windows overlooking the garden.

"Surprise?" Maxon asked, confused.

"Yes." America grinned. "This is your surprise party, Maxon."

Maxon shook his head, confused, "I'm already having a party."

America laughed, "I know. This is your surprise one. Your _real_ one. We have two hours until you have to get back to work."

Finally, it seemed as if she'd gotten through. "Ames." He breathed, crossing over to her and leaning down to wrap her in a hug. "Thank you... this is... this is amazing. Perfect. _So_ good." his eyes actually looked a little watery when he pulled back to take in the sight of her. He released her an turned to address their beaming friends. "How long have you known about this?" he demanded of Carter and Aspen.

"About a week." Carter laughed. "But we've been espionage training with the English, we've gotten very good at keeping secrets."

"Too good!" Maxon pretended to complain. "You're not supposed to keep secrets from _me_! I'm the King!" He wrapped Lucy in a tight hug, lifting her off the ground and twirling her around before setting her back down, then he did he same to Marlee.

America scooted off of the couch, surprised that it required more effort to get up than she'd expected. Her stomach still wasn't very big, but the baby was definitely growing inside of her, and her center of gravity was already rapidly shifting. It didn't help that it was a very deep, plush sofa and would have been difficult to get out of anyway.

When she finally did make it up, only Aspen seemed to have noticed her struggle, and he grinned over at her with a wink.

Free from the confines of the couch, America slipped over to the corner and brought out one of Maxon's favorite machines, a 'record player' which, if widely available, would put a lot of Fives out of work. The machine played music as if an entire band were in the room, yet it only occupied a small space on a table in the corner. America put on Maxon's very favorite 'record' and a moment later, his favorite songs wafted through the air at a pleasant volume. She could see the appeal, it afforded them privacy that hiring a group of Fives to perform would not, and for this party, that was exactly what they needed. It was also a small investment, monetarily, and would pay off when someone never had to hire live musicians again, but could keep reusing the 'record player'. Still, America shook her head at the device and frowned a little at the thought of all of the hungry nights her family would have faced if every household in Illéa had one of these.

Maxon noticed the kind gesture America had made in including this little detail in his surprise party and he grinned, "Excuse me." he nodded to the others. "I need to dance with my amazing wife."

America smiled as he crossed over to her and swept her into his arms with a flourish. "Do you like it?" America asked, already knowing the answer.

"I love it. Thank you so much, Love."

"You're welcome. I'm sorry we still have to do the other one tonight, but hopefully you'll manage to have a little fun."

"I know I will." Maxon promised her. "But I want you taking it easy this year, hostess."

"Trust me, Silvia's way ahead of you. She's been hovering over me like a mama bird all day. She came about an inch away from making me take a nap earlier."

Maxon laughed, "Good. I like that. Give her a raise."

"Less money for naked parties in the future." America reminded him in a hushed tone.

"Oh, right, never mind. Give her a demotion. In fact, fire everyone. We only need one room and no clothes to be happy."

"Food is good sometimes." America suggested.

Maxon sighed, soaking in the sight of her. Red hair with liquid sunshine spun through, ice blue eyes that never failed to welcome him in, and a radiant, glowing complexion to underscore her growing belly. "I don't know if food is necessary, Ames, sometimes I think I could just live off of you forever."

America touched the tip of her nose to his, "I think I know what you mean." Then she considered it more closely, "But, actually, not while I'm pregnant. This baby is _always_ hungry."

Maxon smiled, "What is it today?"

"Marshmallows." America nodded her head toward the food trolley Mary had left for them to enjoy. Chocolate cake was the main attraction, although there were plenty of Maxon's favorite lunch items available for grabbing and snacking on, and there in the corner, a last minute addition crammed in. A bowl of fluffy white marshmallows. America could add them to anything they had to eat, or just take them plain.

"Oh, bless you." Maxon chuckled, pressing a kiss to her cheek. "Thank you so much for putting up with this for me. I don't know how I'd cope if I was the one suffering from these monstrous cravings. Imagine being in the middle of a meeting and getting slammed with a craving so intense that it physically takes my breath away..."

"I don't have to. I've lived it." America sighed. "But your appreciation means a lot to me. Being pregnant is a challenge, but at least you're appropriately grateful."

"More grateful than you'll ever know." Maxon reassured her with a soft kiss to her lips. Their song ended and he took a step back from her. He released all but her hand as they went back over to join their friends who were conversing and snacking very happily.

Since this was Maxon's 'real' party, they had a small chocolate cake just for the occasion, and America made certain to include candles on it so that Maxon could have a private birthday wish. There would be candles on his cake that night, but he wouldn't be permitted to pause, consider, close his eyes and wish with all his might as he blew them out. As a king, he'd have to look amused at the whole thing and deign to play along, none of the dignitaries in attendance could be permitted to think of the King of Illéa as 'foolish' or 'childish', for both of those words ultimately translated to mean 'weak'.

America gave Maxon his present shortly before he had to go back to work.

"A present?" he beamed. "This party isn't my present?"

America giggled. "No, Maxon, this party is your _party_. This _present_ is your present." she explained. The look of joy on his face sent butterflies fluttering in her stomach.

Those happy butterflies were immediately replaced by anxious ones, watching him open the package she'd wrapped for him, herself. She knew he'd love anything that she gave him, just because it was a gift from her. His father had given him cuff links twice in a row, and he still adored them, years later. But America wanted more than Maxon's heartbreaking joy at being given anything at all from the people he loved. She really, really, _really _wanted him to _really_ like his present. It was a matter of pride.

"Oh, wow." he breathed as he unboxed the item in his hand.

"I was promised by the man at the shop that it's the best of its kind." America said, sliding over on the couch to be close to him. She slipped her right arm through the crook of his left and rested her hand on his forearm.

"What is it?" Marlee asked, peeking curiously at the box from her place resting comfortably in Carter's lap.

"It's a camera." Maxon said, softly, still taking it in.

"One you don't have already?" Marlee asked, teasingly.

"This one's different." Maxon replied, absentmindedly.

"Maxon's cameras take exquisite photographs, but they require a lot of setup." America explained. "The lenses are big, and the image needs to be pulled into focus. Even the camera we stole from him for our photo session in the Women's room was bulky, if less elaborate. This one is built small. No added lenses, and it focuses itself. The photographs aren't quite as beautiful as his other cameras, but this camera captures images quickly, clearly, and it's portable."

Maxon turned to look at her, swallowing heavily, "It's for the baby, isn't it?" he asked, breathless.

"Yeah." America smiled, pleased he'd understood her intent so intuitively. "For when the baby gets here. You can keep it in your pocket and you'll always have a camera ready for the good parts." She ran her finger up and down his wrist gently, absentmindedly, as she hurried to remember the other virtues of this camera. She felt compelled to really sell him on it."And if it breaks, it's easily replaced, not like your other precious cameras." America remembered. She shuddered to think of their baby as a toddler, getting its hands on Maxon's good cameras. They'd have to come up with a safe place to stash them when the time came.

"It's perfect, America." Maxon smiled, leaning and pressing his lips to hers.

"Really?" America asked, searching his eyes. Maxon didn't just 'like photography'. Maxon was an artist, and this tool wasn't quite his usual standard. It would be like someone offering America an inferior violin. Her stomach swam with butterflies again, just imagining how Maxon might change his mind. Decide he doesn't want it at all.

"Point and click." Maxon said, smiling, "It's exactly what I need, and it'll fit perfectly in my suit breast pocket. I can have it with me everywhere I go. How did you think of this?"

America grinned and confessed, "I was watching you try to photograph Astra a few weeks ago. She was running around in the gardens, and you kept pouting because she was nothing but a blur in the images. It got me wondering if there was a quicker way to take pictures, because you're going to need it pretty soon." America smiled.

"So who did you ask?"

"Gavril." Maxon laughed and America shrugged, grinning at herself lightheartedly. "He works with cameras all the time, so I thought he might know something. He was a good place to start, he gave me the information for a camera shop in town. The proprietor was more than willing to help me, even though I had no idea if what I was asking for even existed."

"I've been thinking about getting one of these for a while now, Ames, it just seemed like too much of a luxury to buy for myself."

"I'm really glad you like it, Max."

With something approaching all-out glee, Maxon pressed a button and the slim camera in his hand came to life. Using the vibrant display screen to see the image he was capturing, Maxon raised the camera up, pointed it at America, and clicked. In an instant, the brilliant screen filled with a crystal-clear America, giving the person behind the camera a thoroughly exasperated look. She didn't like _always _being the test subject when Maxon was adjusting his camera settings. And she _always _was. "Beautiful." Maxon declared the picture, happily. "I'm going to use this every day, Ames, especially once the baby gets here."

"Happy birthday, Maxon." America smiled, running her hand through his hair lazily. As usual, he relished the touch.

* * *

America spent her afternoon overseeing the setup for Maxon's official birthday party. As with any major Palace event, there seemed to be ten times more staff than usual, and all swarming like bees around the ballroom. To keep up with the overwhelming demand, several service contractors were hired in for the evening which only added to the crowd.

Silvia had taken to all but forcing America into a chair every time the older woman saw the young Queen up and about in the ballroom that afternoon, so America was behaving herself and keeping off her feet as she reviewed the seating arrangements for the evening one more time before handing them off to Justin, the head butler, so that place cards could be set out. Silvia approached America looking positively harried, and nearly collapsed in the chair next to the young queen, clipboard hanging limply from her hand.

"Thank you, Justin." America said to Maxon's head-of-staff, a relatively young man who couldn't have been more than eight or ten years older than Maxon at the most. "This seating arrangement is as good as it's going to get. Go ahead with the place cards." America handed the list over to him.

"Of course, your Majesty." Justin bowed deeply.

America turned her attention to the woman sitting next to her. "Silvia?"

"Your Majesty?"

"Do you want to talk about it?" America giggled.

"The servers are late."

"The servers?"

"The contractors we brought in to assist our staff in serving tonight so that our guests don't have to wait three hours for their food, nor go on a lengthy safari to find champagne and hors d'oeuvres."

"They're late?"

"Late." Silvia snapped. "I phoned the restaurant we're borrowing them from, they left on time, but something's held them up. What if they fail to arrive at all?"

"Then you and I will walk around with champagne bottles and mini-quiche." America shrugged.

"Don't mock, your Majesty, you know the importance of winning these people over." Silvia reminded her, tersely. All of the party guests tonight would be upper caste, and America and Maxon consistently polled weakest amongst the upper castes. If America and Maxon wanted the amendment to the laws of inheritance passed, they needed this party to go smoothly.

"I refuse to worry about it yet." America said, simply. "We've contracted from this restaurant before, I remember them."

"Many times, they're always our first call."

"They'll be here, then." America said. "It's still hours until we officially need them, anyway. Now, if Roseabelle was running late, I would be worried." The old woman from the bakery in Angeles was America's first choice to bake Maxon's all-important chocolate birthday cake (she'd also baked the smaller one just for them, earlier in the day). The woman, her son, and his daughter had all been laboring in the kitchens since well before dawn to create the confection that would become the centerpiece of the party.

"I suppose, your Majesty." Silvia didn't seem much soothed. "And the carpenters we contracted are here, erecting the platform for the musicians to perform on." That much was both visible and audible from where America and Silvia sat. Men in laborer's uniforms were toting planks of wood around and the loud, persistent sound of drills and hammers echoed through the room.

"I know my hand-selected fellow Fives have reported for duty." America said, confidently.

"Warming up in the music room now." Silvia affirmed.

For a wild moment, America envied them so deeply that she felt heat in her belly. What she wouldn't give to be warming up for a performance in the music room right about now instead of coordinating a major Palace social event. Her stomach fluttered at the thought. "This party is going to be wonderful, Silvia." America promised, shaking off the echoes of her envy and turning her mind to the task at hand. "Mary is going to want to start scrubbing me down and getting me ready pretty soon, so if you have anything else that requires my attention—"

"No, ma'am. We're fine down here, or we will be once the servers show up." Silvia sighed.

America brightened, realizing what would cheer up her beloved assistant. "You know, I need someone to go and remind Gavril to arrange the press credentials for Rolph Lemex tonight. Something tells me he's going to try to conveniently 'forget' to credential Illéa's first free reporter. A little ribbing from you might go a long way toward that end." America suggested.

"You need me to have a word with Gavril?" Silvia clarified, a hopeful little smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. America remembered well the early days when just a stolen moment with Prince Maxon would make all of the stress and tumult of the Palace seem to melt away. If she had to guess, she'd bet that Gavril and Silvia were somewhere around that stage in their extremely secretive relationship.

"If you don't mind. Stay on him, too, follow him back to his office and watch him collect the pass. Better to be certain than to have a scandal should Rolph report that he was turned away at the gates."

"Yes. Quite so, your Majesty." Silvia allowed the smile fully on her face. "Queen America? Thank you."

"You _could _call me 'America' sometimes, you know." America reminded her, pushing herself to her feet so that she could make the journey back to the third floor.

"I would never." Silvia shook her head, gracefully rising, herself. "Not even when you were 'Lady America'."

America sighed, thinking of giving up the fight for now. It was then, as Silvia and America approached the main entrance to the ballroom on their way out, that America noticed that the whole room behind them was still and silent. Almost two hundred bodies were now frozen in bows or curtsies, all because America was walking away.

"You guys are never going to get this ballroom ready by tonight if you do that every time I enter or exit." America protested feebly. No one so much as blinked. America sighed heavily, and Silvia placed a hand on her lower back, ushering her out into the hallway beyond. Behind them, they heard the room spring back to life. "That's weird, that's a weird thing, Silvia." It bothered her in ways she couldn't quite articulate.

"I can imagine, your Majesty."

"It's amazing Maxon turned out as normal as he did, you know?"

"Yes, ma'am." Silvia said in a soothing tone, sensing her distress.

"Can you imagine Maxon as a five-year-old boy walking into a room like that and everyone freezing? This is the only life he's ever known. He's never walked into a room and had everyone ignore him and go about their business."

"That's true." Silvia said, walking with her towards the stairs.

"…It's the only life this baby will ever know either." America realized what was bothering her. "It'll crawl into a room sometime next year and the whole world will stop for it. …How am I supposed to…"

"To?" Silvia pressed.

"Raise a normal, healthy child under these conditions?" America glared at an elaborate tapestry hung in the stairwell as if it perfectly illustrated her point.

Silvia paused them in the middle of the staircase and turned to face America head-on. "Queen Amberly did rather a magnificent job, if you ask me."

"Entirely magnificent." America agreed, softly.

"You have given me no reason to believe that your work as a mother will be anything less."

America tilted her head to the side, decoding this. "You're saying that you believe in me?"

"With every fiber of my being. I have witnessed first hand, time and time again, that when you put your mind to something, you never fail to hit your mark. Whether it be extra lessons to give you an edge during a Selection, saving a man from an unjust sentencing by offering your own jewelry to pay for his crimes, or—" she said the next part in a hushed tone so that none of the bustling staff in the vicinity could overhear them, "putting into motion a plan to repair the very foundation of Illéa by altering the laws of inheritance." She swallowed heavily and then returned to her normal volume level and a bracing smile, "After all of this time, I'd have to be a fool to underestimate you, your Majesty."

America suddenly felt glowing, the way Maxon kept saying that she looked. "That sounded suspiciously like pride, Silvia."

Silvia nodded and then continued climbing the stairs, America falling into pace with her, "It might have been." Silvia confessed.

* * *

America found Mary in the Queen's suite, already laying everything out for that evening. America's first order of business was to soak in a hot bathtub for half an hour to prepare her skin for the scrubbing and oils it would be subjected to afterward. It was half an hour of still, quiet, relaxing heaven, and America predictably fell fast asleep. Mary ended up leaving her in there for closer to an hour, because the nap was so desperately needed.

By the time Mary woke her up, scrubbed her down, oiled her skin, and then wrapped her in a fluffy, white robe, Maxon was waiting for her in his room. They were having a quiet, little dinner together before the big party started. Any other year, and America might have complained about having two dinners on the same night, but this year was different. Their baby more than welcomed the idea of double dinner.

"Hello." America greeted Maxon with a smile as she entered his room. Her hair was still soaked and the robe was all that she wore, tied off above her little bump to accent it.

"You look chilly." Maxon smiled at the goosebumps on her skin, opening his arms to her. He was back in his pajamas until Justin, the butler finished pressing Maxon's evening suit and returned with it.

"Mmm." America sighed, contentedly, as Maxon wrapped her up in a warm embrace. "This was what you wanted for your birthday, wasn't it? A whole day of this?"

"Without that cumbersome robe." Maxon winked down at her and then guided her over to his bed. Their light dinner was already waiting for them on a tray at his bedside.

"I had an idea, while I was soaking in that tub."

"Did you?" Maxon asked.

"We should start celebrating half-birthdays."

"Half-birthdays?"

"The day halfway between our birthdays." America explained.

"We should celebrate that?" Maxon asked, amused and confused in equal measures.

"Especially once the baby gets here. A day that's just for family, just for us. No major events of state, no ballgowns, no press. A day off of work and a slice of cake, a little gift maybe."

"If our baby is born on its due date, December 15th, we could celebrate its half-birthday in the middle of June. That's good timing for a random day off, as far as the Palace schedule is concerned." Maxon considered.

"Yours would be in late February, a nice warm spot in an otherwise frozen month. It would be nice, especially after dealing with the headache that is the Palace celebration of _my_ birthday earlier in the month." America added.

"And _your _half-birthday would be this month, Ames." Maxon grinned.

"We'll start after the baby gets here."

"Why? I want to take a day off this month and lavish you with gifts and attention."

"We have an amendment to institute, first." America reminded him. "I'll take all the days off you have to give me, once we're in the clear."

"Fair enough." Maxon resigned, and they turned their attention towards first dinner.

* * *

Second dinner came several hours later, after a seemingly endless barrage of 'important' guests arrived at the Palace gates. America and Maxon stood in the entrance hall in front of the ball room and greeted every single guest individually with handshakes. People America had never seen before, people America distantly remembered but didn't particularly like, people America recognized but neither liked nor disliked, the advisers, and then, lastly, America and Maxon's inner circle of true friends and family.

America's mother was the very last guest, and when it became clear that, after an hour and a half of standing still and shaking hands, America and Maxon were finally free, Magda wrapped an arm around America and said, "Come, sweetheart. We're going to get you off of your feet for a little." And America had never been more grateful for her mother in her entire life. As she'd been standing there, shaking all of those hands, she'd been able to feel her ankles physically swelling up. As the Queen, she ordinarily would have had to start straight in on making her rounds in the party, talking a little bit to everyone whose hands she'd just finished shaking. But if the Queen's mother was here, ushering her daughter to a chair and utterly monopolizing her time that way, then it was Magda's rudeness, not America's, and America could be excused.

"Thanks, Mom." America breathed softly, as they both followed Maxon into the ballroom.

Magda simply waved away the gratitude and led America to her throne-like chair at the head table. She tracked down a member of the wait staff, a man in a slightly disheveled suit (it clearly wasn't every day he was sent to the Palace for a job, in fact this could have been his very first Palace event, and his very first task at that event was to do as the Queen's mother instructed). "A glass of ice water for my daughter, sir." Magda said, firmly.

America watched from her seat several feet away as the man's eyes landed on America and widened in recognition. "Yes, ma'am." he gave a little bow and went about his task nervously.

"I wonder if the restaurant had to send another crew…" America mused.

"What's that, America?"

"Nothing. Silvia mentioned earlier that the wait staff we contracted was running late. I wonder if they had to send another crew. I've seen most of the servers from the restaurant before, at other Palace events, but I don't remember these. They all look a little nervous." America's eyes swept around the room, taking them in. It wasn't that they were doing their jobs poorly, but they did look a little out of place.

"We'll just be patient with them, then." Magda said, taking the empty seat next to America. "Now, I haven't had a good discussion with you in weeks."

"Discussion?" America didn't like the sound of that. All matters of waitstaff were driven immediately from her mind.

"I just want to know how you're doing, that's all. Honestly, you act like I'm about to manipulate you into entering a brutal competition to win the heart of the Prince of Illéa."

America couldn't stop the laugh from bubbling up in her throat at her mother's unexpected joke. "Yeah, you would _never_ do a thing like that."

Magda smiled and took America's hand, "Talk to me."

America didn't know where to start. She and her mother had never really had this kind of relationship before. There were a few shining moments of closeness, but for the most part they tended to butt heads anytime America invited her mother into her life. "Um… I don't really know what you want—"

"Tell me about the baby." Magda prompted. "How was your last appointment?"

"Fine." America wasn't sure what her mother was looking for. "The baby's healthy and growing."

"Kenna mentioned that you almost had the chance to learn its gender."

"Yeah… that was frustrating, not getting to find out. But it's for the greater good, I guess, with the amendment and all. Plus, I think Maxon's having twice the fun coming up with names for both genders. Someone's going to have to tell him that we're not actually having twins and he's not going to get to use both names come December."

America's ice water arrived and she drank it greedily while Magda looked around the room, eyes landing on America's husband. "Is he having a happy birthday?"

"Yes, I think so. I've done a few little things with him today to make it special, he appreciates that more than these big parties."

"I'll bet he misses his darling mother today." Magda reflected.

"I don't know…" America mused. "He misses Amberly all the time. And Clarkson, too. I don't know that it's so different for him today."

Magda studied her daughter closely, "It's strange to hear you refer to the late King and Queen so casually."

"Well…" America shrugged, "They _are_ my in-laws." Magda smiled at this and nodded. America took a long drink and then continued, "This morning I brought flowers to the portrait of Amberly on the first floor, the one from her coronation. That's what I've done on each of Maxon's birthdays since I got here."

"I didn't know that." Magda sounded impressed.

"I want to honor her. She gave me the love of my life, carried him with her for nine months and then brought him into this world against all odds. She had a very difficult time getting him to term, Maxon was probably the most difficult venture she ever undertook as Queen."

"And the most worthwhile." Magda added.

"I completely agree. I knew he was special, almost right away. I didn't love him right away, but I knew he was special. I could have told her so during the Selection, especially once I was one of the Elite. She'd have liked to hear that from us. She might have thought it was some kind of strategy, winning over the mother by complimenting her on her son, but nevertheless, I should have done it. I had my chances and I squandered them all. So now I lay flowers at her portrait on his birthday and hope the message somehow gets through."

"It sounds like you miss her more than he does."

"No." America shook her head, thinking of how difficult it had been for Maxon during the weeks and months after his parent's murder. "I miss her differently, I think. Not more or less." America shrugged.

Magda considered her for a moment and then changed the subject to lighten the mood. "You and Silvia have outdone yourselves once again, this ballroom looks fabulous."

"I hope so. We need to make a very good impression tonight on our guests."

"Public opinion?" Magda guessed.

"Mhmm. We stand to gain the most ground in our numbers with the upper castes. Their approval would put a big dent in the overall improvements we need to make by December to get our amendment approved. I've been agonizing over it all week, I swear my stomach has been in butterflies all day just thinking about it."

Magda turned back to her daughter, "What kind of butterflies?"

America thought this was a very strange question, and she tried to figure out why her mother was asking it. "Oh, the baby is fine, Mom. Dr. Ashlar would have noticed at my appointment yesterday if something was wrong."

"Butterflies like…" Magda tried to summon an appropriate simile. "Butterflies like the first time you kissed Maxon?"

"Mom!" America had never, not once, discussed her love life with her mother. And there had been no butterflies in her stomach the first time Maxon kissed her, it had been much simpler than that. And so much more complicated, too.

"Answer me." Magda insisted.

America had no idea where this was coming from, her mother had never pressed her for intimate details like this before. She didn't know what to say. America hadn't gotten butterflies in her stomach when Maxon kissed her, but she'd definitely gotten them the first time Aspen had. Her whole stomach had swooped and sizzled. She supposed this was what her mother was asking about. "Different." America finally concluded. "These are anxious, not tingly."

Magda got a knowing smile on her face, "More bubbly than fluttery?"

"Yes." America affirmed, cautiously.

"All week, you say?"

"…Mostly… well, all day at least." It was true, her stomach had been fluttering off and on all day. Waiting for Maxon to open his gift or thinking about all that they had to accomplish to pull off this party.

"America, those aren't nervous butterflies." Magda smiled widely.

"What are they?" America asked, confused at the look on her mother's face.

"That feeling is the baby moving."

America blinked and then instinctively looked down at her belly, tonight clad in a golden gown, as if she could see straight through to the child below and check if it was moving or lying still. "I don't think so, Mom—"

"You're nearly eighteen weeks along, America, your stomach is going to start fluttering quite a bit and it won't stop until that baby is born." Magda grinned like crazy.

"How can you be so certain?"

"I'm not sure if you know this about me, but I bore five children, myself." Magda joked and America shook her head, disbelieving. Two jokes in five minutes. That was some kind of record. America's mom was in a very good mood that night.

"So… I'm to take any bubbly butterfly-like sensations to mean that the baby is moving?" America clarified.

"Yes. And it'll be about another month before any of the rest of us will be able to feel the kicks and punches, so right now it's a special, exclusive sensation that only you and your baby share. You should treasure it, America. Before you know it, they're born, grown, and coronated." Magda swept one of America's red curls behind her ear and ghosted her fingers over the crown America was wearing that night.

The 'coronated' part could have been considered joke number three, as most mothers don't really think about their children being coronated and America's coronation was nothing short of a twist of fate for Magda. But for America, this was a very, very real consideration, that she was twenty-one short years away from this baby's coronation. And for a few more weeks, she'd be the only person in the entire universe who could feel it move.

As if on cue, her stomach erupted in little bubbly butterflies and America gasped, hand flying to her stomach. "Wow." she breathed. "Do you think it can feel me?"

"By now? Yes. It's well enough developed that its little senses are up and working." Magda smiled, her eyes watering but stopping short of crying.

America stroked her bump gently, soothingly, and the bubbles stopped. "Why did it stop, is it okay?" America asked, panicked.

"Fine, honey, just fine." Magda promised. "It gets tired very easily because it's still so small. But it will keep building up its strength which means you'll feel it in there exercising, as often as it can."

There was a fanfare from the musicians, it was time for Maxon and America to start off the dancing. America took another long drink of water, then set down her glass. She pressed a kiss to her mother's cheek and said, "Thanks, Mom."

Magda smiled back at her and patted her hand in reply.

America found Maxon waiting for her on the dance floor looking somehow more handsome than when she'd left him for her mother's company.

Maxon bowed to her and offered his hand, which she took with her own curtsey, and then, once they were in position to dance, the musicians started up a waltz.

"I think I've somehow become a worse dancer since the Selection, if that's possible." America lamented with a smile.

Maxon shook his head, "You feel much better in my arms."

"Do I?"

"You trust me now. You're a lot easier to lead than you were. I think you've come a long way, Love."

"Hm. Well, any of my missteps tonight we can blame on the baby, can't we?"

"Of course." Maxon smiled, indulgently.

"…Maxon."

"Yes?" his eyes were sparkling like chocolate diamonds. He loved their little mid-dance stolen conversations. The rest of the country whispered amongst themselves, wondering what their monarchs were talking about so confidentially, but only Maxon and America knew the truth of it, and they let everyone else wonder.

"I felt the baby move today." America confessed, a happy smile tugging at her lips.

"You did?" Maxon asked, bewildered.

"Just a few little flutterings, I didn't realize what they were at first, but Mom told me. She says that, when the baby is still so, so small, that's what it feels like. Little flutterings. She said you won't be able to feel any kicks for another month or so." America added, anticipating Maxon's next question.

Maxon seemed only slightly disappointed about it. "So you can feel our baby moving, can you?"

"Mhmm." America grinned. "And the baby can feel us, now, too, when we stroke it."

"Now is when it's going to start learning our voices." Maxon realized.

"Oh, the baby already knows you very well, Maxon." America reminded him. "The two of you have been having lengthy conversations for months now."

Maxon chuckled, "I suppose that's true."

America tilted her head to the side, peering up at her husband thoughtfully. "Are you going to miss it being just us? I didn't give it very much thought when we made the decision that I'd go off of the birth control tablets, but… those days are over now."

Maxon took his time replying. "No, I don't think I'll miss us. We're not going anywhere. We'll have time to ourselves, I promise. But now we'll also have so much more than ourselves. There might be times when we've hardly slept in weeks, the baby is crying, and it's four o'clock in the morning that I might look back on our life before with some longing. But that won't be the norm. And it won't be for you, either, I suspect."

This made America feel loads better. "How many times over would Silvia kill us if I kissed you right now?"

"America Singer Schreave, in front of the whole Kingdom?" Maxon tried to sound scandalized, but all he sounded was enticed.

America laughed and leant in, capturing his lips with hers and lingering there for several long moments, even as the cameras clicked and flashed all around them.

The rest of the party passed easily. Maxon even seemed to have some fun, in between all of the glad-handing he had to do as King. America got to share a couple of dances with Gerad, who was growing up right before her eyes, it seemed. He was still the little boy she knew and adored, but only for a few minutes longer. Very soon his voice would drop, he'd hit a growth spurt, and she'd turn around and find a man where her kid brother was supposed to be.

The party seemed to be a rousing success. There was only one hiccough the entire night, a tense moment when one of the contracted. temporary waitstaff tripped and fell, spilling a tray of champagne onto the floor. Silvia nearly had a heart attack at the sight of it, but the mess was cleaned up in an instant and it was all but forgotten by the end of the night. Even Silvia let it go, after being asked to dance by Gavril.

The dinner portion of the evening was spectacular. For the main course, America had a well-done steak with a side of asparagus, and a special bowl of marshmallows. Maxon caught her stacking a tiny marshmallow onto her steak.

"Ames, really?" he shuddered.

"Deal with it, Maxon." she said, sharply. She was not about to allow him to tease her for this. Not when it was _his _child who was causing it.

"It's pure sugar, on a hearty cut of beef like this, how could you?" he shook his head.

"You're asking the wrong person." She pointed down to her little belly.

Maxon laughed and leant down to her stomach before saying, "Baby, I know you don't know much about food, but this is not how you eat a steak. Let go of the marshmallows, for your mommy's sake as well as your own. Trust Daddy, you'll like it much better with steak sauce."

"Didn't work." America reported as she stuffed another marshmallow into her mouth.

"Well, eat up." Maxon sighed, returning to his own steak. "Maybe it will save me from a middle-of-the-night snack run."

By the time Maxon had decisively, disinterestedly blown out the candles on his giant chocolate cake, and the guests were finishing up their slices, the exhaustion from the day hit America in full force. Kenna stood up from farther down the head table and came over to America. "You look spent, Ames."

"I'm hanging in there." America promised. "Sitting through dinner has helped a lot. My feet feel a lot better now."

"I'm going up to cuddle Astra and get some sleep. I think you should join me. At least come up and get comfortable, even if you don't fall asleep."

America turned to Maxon, who nodded emphatically, "You've done more than enough today, Ames."

America took a long drink of water. "Only if Silvia can spare me."

Kenna nodded and immediately made her way down to where Silvia sat enjoying the final bites of her slice of cake. America watched them exchange hushed, serious words, and Silvia looked up to where America was sitting with a nod and a beckoning gesture.

"Come and get me when you're done partying." America kissed Maxon's cheek. "I'll be in my room from the Selection." she reminded him. That was the room Kenna and James had claimed when they'd temporarily moved into the Palace with the Singers.

"I love you." Maxon whispered after her, squeezing her hand as she walked away and then letting her go.

"I love you, too. Happy birthday, Maxon." she replied with a tired smile. She crossed over to where Silvia sat, Kenna standing just beside her. Silvia said, "I've got everything in hand here, and it wouldn't be remotely rude for you to excuse yourself now."

"Are you sure? I'm the hostess—"

"I promise." Silvia assured her. "Going up now could even be a good strategic move. It might endear you to the guests, remind them of the little life growing inside of you."

America smiled as she felt that little life flutter again, for just a few moments. "Alright. I'll see you Monday, Silvia."

"Sleep well, your Majesty." Silvia nodded. America took Kenna's proffered arm and the two of them made their great escape to the second floor.

Astra was already fast asleep, her little cheek smushed adorably against a pillow that was half her size. Paige had volunteered to watch her for Kenna and James and curtseyed at America's appearance in the room. Kenna dismissed her silently, and then turned to help America out of her golden gown.

"I have a nightdress you can borrow." Kenna whispered.

"Will it fit?" America looked down at her bump, dubiously.

Kenna chuckled softly, "You're not _that _big yet. No need to get ahead of yourself." Ever since puberty, Kenna had been curvier and more voluptuous than America. Fives couldn't afford to be heavy-set, so it wasn't that, but Kenna was definitely more womanly than America, all angles and elbows, had ever had. Any nightgown Kenna had to offer would be sure to fit America's newly curved figure.

When they were both out of their dresses and into their comfortable nightclothes, the makeup scrubbed from their faces and their hair combed down, they slipped softly into bed and America was hit with a flashback. A memory she hadn't thought of in years.

"Before May was born, we did this almost every night." America whispered, remembering.

"Even after May was born, when she was big enough to join us." Kenna nodded, gently stroking her thumb across Astra's little temple.

"It feels nice." America reflected, sliding down in the bed so that her head was on a level with Astra's, though they occupied two different pillows.

"Maxon would miss you too much if you tried to slip in here with any regularity." Kenna smiled. "That boy has it bad for you."

"I know." America grinned. "Kind of like you and James."

Kenna grinned, too. "James has it bad for me, but he doesn't pout every time I leave the house without him."

America couldn't wipe the smile from her face but she did add, on a sober note, "It's because of Maxon's parents. Because they're dead, and they died right in front of him. He's got bad anxiety that something'll happen to me. The four months between Maxon's proposal and when we were married were some of the longest of his life, because for four short months he was the last Schreave on earth. He was all alone, the only thing standing between our society and the rebels or the New Asians who wanted to tear it all down. Our wedding night couldn't come soon enough for him, but not for the usual reasons. It was because he'd finally be able to sleep easy, knowing that he wasn't all alone in the world."

Kenna frowned, rubbing little circles on Astra's back. She was silent for a few minutes, cataloguing this with what she'd personally witnessed of Maxon's behavior. She seemed as if she understood him better now. Then she joked, "He might have been looking forward to your wedding night for _some _of the usual reasons though, right?"

America chuckled, a whispered ghost of a laugh, and intoned, "Yeah. That's possible."

They drifted off to sleep gossiping like sisters should. America wasn't sure when it happened, but she definitely felt Kenna's hand rubbing soothing circles on her own back instead of Astra's, after a while. America's body felt heavy with exhaustion as she lay on the brink of consciousness, and she sank deep into the mattress that had been her own during the Selection. The silence was soothing to her ears after such a hectic day, and Kenna and Astra's deep, steady breaths were their very own kind of sweet lullaby.

* * *

The next thing America was aware of, an obtrusively bright hallway light shone on her face and Maxon's panicked voice cried out, "America!"

Before she could respond with anything more significant than a few mumbled syllables and to sit up in bed, Maxon was at her side, clutching her to his chest like his life depended on it, running a hand through her mussed red hair.

"What's going on?" America asked, hearing the sleep in her own voice. Beside her, Kenna and Astra were stirring and beginning to sit up, too.

"I was _so_ worried." Maxon breathed shakily, and America noticed tremors in his hands and arms.

"I don't understand." America said, working to soothe her husband while simultaneously trying to find out what threat he'd perceived. "I told you I'd be with Kenna."

"I know, thank God." Maxon clutched her even tighter.

Astra was awake next to her mother now, and very sympathetic towards Maxon's obvious distress. "You had a bad dream, Mackin?" she asked, patting his head roughly. It seemed that the closer she got to her fourth birthday, the bolder she was in using her command of language. Since moving the Palace, she wasn't half as shy as she used to be in front of America of Maxon.

Maxon gave a watery laugh and looked up at Astra, his brown eyes full of unshed tears. He finally relinquished his hold on his wife so that he could take the little girl into his arms. "A very bad dream, Astra."

Astra mimicked what her mother did in those situations by placing both of her tiny hands firmly on Maxon's cheeks and giving him a loud peck on the lips. "You okay, Mackin." she promised.

Aspen rounded the corner into the room at a jog and immediately reported, without waiting to be officially commanded, "There's no sign of them, sir."

"So we don't know how this happened?" Maxon asked, trying to summon anger to cover his fear, but with Astra in his arms he utterly failed.

"I've got Officer Woodwork heading the investigation now, sir, we'll know by morning."

"Maxon, what happened?" America asked.

"Another note from K." Maxon frowned, grim-faced and dour.

"Where?"

"Where else? On your bed." Maxon repositioned himself so that he could hold Astra more comfortably in his arms. "I went up to change into something more comfortable, I was going to come down for you and offer you a walk through the gardens before bed. The door connecting our rooms was wide open, and the note was clearly visible, even from my bedroom."

James entered the room, looking disheveled in his party clothes and worn out from the festivities. "You sent for me, Maxon?"

"I need you to stay with our wives, James." Maxon said, firmly. "I'm sending you all to the main safe room."

"But there's no alarm." America argued, unhappy at the thought of spending a long night in the underground bunker. She liked her windows and fresh air and moonlight, especially in the summer months.

"But there are rebels in the Palace walls all the same." Maxon rebutted, his tone harsh and forceful. "Until we figure out how they got here and what they're looking for, other than your death, you're going to sit in that safe room and set my mind at ease." he ordered.

America frowned at his tone, "What about you? You're the King of Illéa, if they're here to kill anyone, they'll be looking for you."

"That's just not true anymore, don't you remember?" Maxon demanded, fearful and tired in equal measures. "_You__'__re_ the top safety priority until that baby is born,_ you_ are their first target right now, Ames."

"But they'd settle for killing you if you walked right up to them."

"They don't want to kill me right now." He said, brusquely. "It would gain them nothing. I die tonight, and that baby carries on the Schreave name, line, and title." he pointed to America's slightly swollen belly. "Killing me now does nothing to end the monarchy. They want to kill the baby, then you, so that there can be no more babies, and then me to finish off the line. That's the order, anything out of that order doesn't get them what they want."

"Maxon—"

"_Please_, Ames." he resorted to good, old fashioned begging. "Please take our baby to the safe room."

America sighed, so frustrated with the whole situation that tears stung her eyes. If there was one thing that she couldn't stand, it was cowering, but she had to be safe for this baby, so there was really nothing else for her to do but cower. "Yes, of course." She finally said, throwing the blankets off of her legs. Maxon handed Astra to Kenna, who would carry the little girl all the way down to the safe room, and then he offered America both hands to pull her up to standing.

"I'm sending your family, and all of your Queen's council." Maxon said, softly. "Who else should we protect, if the rebels are targeting you tonight?"

"My maids."

"Of course." Maxon shook his head, surprised he'd forgotten Paige and Esther. Mary was on the Queen's council, so he'd remembered her, but only peripherally.

"Let me see the note." America asked, her whisper almost drowned in the scuttle of her sister's little family getting ready to head down to the safe room for the night.

"It's nothing more graphic than last time, which somehow renders it all the more frightening. I almost wish K was all blather and showmanship, it would indicate an inflated ego which leads to mistakes. Mistakes we could capitalize on. These notes are nothing but cruel cunning." Maxon shook his head. "Whoever K is, he's smart, and that doesn't sit well with me."

"Just let me look." America insisted.

Maxon dipped into his front pocket, where he'd been keeping the first K note for months now. He handed a new little rectangle of beautiful white stationary over to her, his hand still shaking with the occasional tremor.

'_King Maxon, _

_Your wife looked radiant tonight in that golden dress. We thought she__'__d be upstairs to rest sooner, what with the baby. So it seems I__'__ve just missed her again. Ah, well. No need to spend any time fretting. I will certainly get her next time. Yours sincerely, K.__'_


	35. Chapter 35

It was past two o'clock the next morning before Maxon joined America and the others down in the safe room, and he wasn't at all happy about it when he did.

America was asleep on a cot with Kile curled up to her side. When Marlee was fetched to escape to the safe room as a precaution, she wouldn't even consider going without her son. This made Astra very happy because she had her best friend to keep her company, and it was almost like a palace slumber party except for the looming fear of assassination. Or maybe the looming fear of assassination was exactly what made it a palace slumber party.

Maxon drew an empty cot over to America, pushing it flush to hers as quietly as he could.

"What's going on?" America whispered, peeking an eye open to see her exhausted husband unbuttoning a few buttons on his shirt to try to get a little more comfortable.

"Aspen's taking over the investigation. It got to the point where I was hindering progress because the men were preoccupied with guarding me, so I volunteered to join you down here."

"That was good, Maxon." America assured him. "I know you're not happy about it, but you did the right thing."

"Mhmm." he answered absentmindedly, removing his shoes with more aggression than was necessary.

"Hey." America whispered, trying to break through the haze of his anxiety.

"Hm?"

"Kiss me."

"Oh. Yes, of course, obviously." he nodded with a weak attempt at a smile and leaned over her to kiss her softly, careful not to disturb Kile.

"Mackin?" a sleepy little voice cooed from about ten feet away. Astra was sitting up next to Kenna's prone form, wiping her eyes blearily.

"Go back to sleep, Pumpkin head." Maxon whispered. Astra was Maxon's 'Pumpkin head' because of the vivid red hair she'd inherited from Kenna's side of the family.

Astra slid carefully out of the cot and padded over to Maxon, her little pink cotton night dress swaying against her knees as she walked. She climbed right into Maxon's lap and wrapped her arms around his neck, loosely so she could still look at him. "Where you go, Mackin?"

"I went to help Uncle Aspen look for something." Maxon answered softly.

"Look for something?"

"Yes."

"You find it?"

"Not yet."

"Where Aspen at?"

"He's still looking."

"I can help." she informed him, seriously.

"Not tonight, Pumpkin head."

"In the mornin'?"

"Okay." he touched the tip of his nose to hers. "After waffles."

"We havin' waffles?" she squeaked loudly, excitement all over her face, and Maxon actually chuckled softly as he shushed her. That girl was definitely America's niece.

"Yes. But only if we're good and go to sleep right now."

Astra tilted her head to the side considering this. "Okay."

"Go back to Mommy, now." he ushered her, but she shook her head firmly.

"No. You havin' bad dreams, Mackin. Where your Mommy?" she looked around for a woman who could conceivably be Maxon's mother.

"She's not here. She's with your Grandpa Shalom." he explained, quietly.

"Oh." Astra thought as fast as her three-year-old brain could think, making a new plan. A backup plan, just for Maxon, since his mommy wasn't there. Her little nose scrunched up in the effort, an expression Maxon had seen many times on America's face. "Okay. I can stay." Astra finally reasoned, and then she tugged him by his shirt down to a laying position.

"You're staying with me?"

"Yeah."

"To keep away the bad dreams?" he sounded as if he couldn't believe it. Like it was the kindest thing anyone had ever done for him. Astra's sweetness simply astounded him.

"Yeah." she said, as if this was obviously what people do for each other when they have bad dreams. In Astra's young life, with a mother and father as wonderful as Kenna and James, that was probably true.

"Thanks, Astra." Maxon whispered, awed at her kindness as she curled up to his side and snuggled in.

"Shhh." Astra pressed a chubby little finger to Maxon's lips firmly. "We go to sleep now for waffles."

Maxon laughed and kissed the finger, nodding his agreement. "Okay, then."

Astra closed her eyes, but Maxon's flew to America's. They had a hundred silent conversations, just looking at each other, each with a small person in their arms. Conversations about how much they loved the children in their life, how excited they were to add their child to the mix, how lucky that child would be to grow up with the likes of Astra, Kile, and Meri, and how this was something worth protecting. The little lives encapsulated in Maxon's and America's arms were worth a thousand skirmishes with rebels and a million notes from K. They were worth standing up and fighting for. These baby people made it all worthwhile.

Aspen didn't show up until well after four in the morning. He gently woke Maxon and their hushed voices slowly woke America. Maxon sat up and deposited Astra on the other side of America so that she had one toddler in each arm, both snuggled close to her and sleeping peacefully.

She didn't dare move for fear of waking them, but she paid very close attention to the exchange between Aspen and Maxon.

"We've concluded the investigation." Aspen said. "We can send everyone back upstairs now. They're gone."

"You're sure?"

"Yes, sir. The Palace is secure." Aspen looked angry, and there was a spark of that anger in his voice, but none of it was directed at Maxon. America knew, just by looking at him, that Aspen was infuriated with himself for letting K slip away again.

"I want a briefing, Leger." Maxon ordered. Leger? If Maxon was calling his best friend by his last name when it was just the two of them talking, that wasn't a good sign. America frowned.

"We need to have a full meeting. Stavros should be there, and August will have some insight."

"Fine. Summon them."

"Stavros went home to his wife for the weekend, it'll take him an hour to get back."

"Then we'll meet in an hour. Security room B."

"Yes, sir." Aspen nodded and turned on his heels to begin making the arrangements.

Maxon sank down to the cot he'd been sleeping on, running a frustrated hand through his hair.

"Maxon?" America breathed.

"Yes?" he asked.

"We're going to figure this out."

"It was such a close call this time..."

"Maybe. Only if K's threats are worth anything. It could all be scare tactics to wear you down. They could be playing with their dinner before they eat it."

"You think they're going to try to eat me?"

America shrugged softly, careful not to jostle the children. "I expect them to try and fail."

Maxon nodded, frowning, and then heaved a heavy sigh. "I'll wake the others, you stay put. Your arms are occupied with more important matters right now." he said, eyeing Kile and Astra adoringly.

Maxon made his way around the room, starting with the maids, huddled together, sleeping in the corner. It was almost time for them to wake up for work anyway.

He woke Georgia and Marlee next, and Marlee came over to dip Kile up out of America's arms. "We'll see you at breakfast in a few hours." Marlee whispered, yawning.

"You better be there." America whispered back. "Astra will throw a fit if she doesn't get to share her waffles with Kile."

Marlee grinned. "We'll be there."

Maxon was already over to a pair of matching armchairs in the corner. Silvia had been brought down as one of America's council, and she slept in one chair. The exact circumstances surrounding the fact that Gavril slept next to her in the other chair, nothing to indicate their relationship to the other but the way their hands connected limply in between them, were matters of pure conjecture.

"We're having a security meeting in one hour. Security room B. I'd like you there." Maxon said as Gavril blinked his heavy eyelids open.

"Of course, sir."

As if reading America's mind, Maxon glanced over his shoulder at her and then turned back to Silvia, "America will want you there as well, Silvia."

"In a security briefing?" Silvia asked, faintly repulsed by the thought.

"She'll appreciate your input, I assure you."

Silvia glanced over at America, who nodded her agreement to what her husband was saying.

"Certainly, your Majesty." Silvia stood and immediately sank into a curtsey before clearing out of the room, Gavril at her heels.

Maxon continued to make his way around the room, now waking each member of America's family, Kenna and James last of all.

When Kenna stood and made her way over to America, surprised to find her daughter asleep on the other side of the room, Maxon placed a hand on Kenna's elbow to gently draw her attention. "May I carry her up for you? I'd like a few more minutes with her."

"A few more?" Kenna asked, bleary eyed and confused.

"She heard me come down a couple of hours ago and climbed in with me. She wanted to keep my nightmares away." Maxon explained, voice growing thick at the memory alone. It made America wonder, sadly, what Maxon had done about nightmares when he was Astra's age. He'd probably been left to suffer alone through nighttime visions of angry, mutant rebels attacking his mother and father. Nightmares that would one day come true.

But Kenna smiled warmly at her brother-in-law, and rested a hand on Maxon's shoulder. "Of course, Maxon. Bring her up for us." she said, kindly. Kenna was nothing if not kind.

Maxon came over and gathered Astra in his arms, cradling her like an infant, keeping her tight against his chest like a sleeping treasure.

Free from her child-burdens, America slipped her legs off of the side of the cot and then sat up slowly. Though she was being careful, she was still hit hard by a dizzy spell that made her head pound and large black spots cover her vision.

May came over and slipped a hand on her back, patting it soothingly until the dizziness passed. "Thanks." America smiled at May, who kissed her cheek in response.

"Alright?" Maxon whispered, concernedly.

"Fine." America promised, carefully bringing herself to stand.

This time she was not hit with a wave of dizziness. Instead, as she arched her back to stretch her spine she felt a ripping, burning pain in her lower abdomen. She couldn't stop the violent wince from marring her face, nor her hands from clutching her stomach in response to the unexpected pain.

"Ames?" Maxon asked, full voiced and panicked. Astra stirred in his arms but did not open her eyes, her breathing remaining steady and deep.

"I don't know... I think I'm fine." America said, standing frozen to the spot, brow furrowed, waiting to see if another pain hit her. All was still.

"What was it?" Maxon whispered.

"A... just a pain." she tried to play it off like the intensity of it hadn't alarmed her. Her attempt didn't work.

"After we drop your family off on the second floor, we're going to go and pay Dr. Ashlar a visit. If you're having sharp pains after the long night we've had, it's nothing good." Maxon's face was so ashen, it was practically grey.

America would have argued with him if it had been anything else in the world. She hated bothering Dr. Ashlar, especially in the middle of the night. But with something this important, she had no choice. "I agree."

May held her hand tightly the whole way up. Magda, Kenna, and James led the way. Gerad stayed faithfully at Maxon's side, a silent sentinel, and Maxon managed to free one of his hands from beneath Astra to offer to Gerad, who seized it like his life depended on it. Unlike little Astra, Gerad was old enough to understand most of what was happening and he was not okay with rebels threatening his big sister and his baby niece or nephew.

Astra stirred again at the jostling movement as Maxon secured her against his chest with one of his strong arms. "It time for waffles, Mackin?" she mumbled.

The furrow between Maxon's brow instantly melted away as he smiled down at her. "Not yet. You're going to sleep until the sun comes up. Then we'll have waffles."

"Okay." she smacked her lips, half in sleepiness, half in anticipation of waffles, and turned her face into his chest from where she lay in the crook of his arm. She sighed happily and drifted back to sleep, lulled by the rhythm of Maxon's steps.

May leant over to America, from where they were bringing up the rear of the crew of Singers and said, "She's got him wrapped around her little finger, doesn't she?"

"Oh, yeah. Hopelessly." America smiled weakly, trying not to think about the pain she'd felt back in the safe room.

"If she asks him for the moon, he'll use his full authority as King of Illéa to bring it down for her." May shook her head, amused.

"I'm thinking more practically, like when she's a teenager and she asks him for concert tickets or introductions to celebrities. He's going to make a fool of himself for her."

"Good." May grinned. "That's an uncle's job." Then May paused to consider. "Do you think he could get concert tickets for _me_?"

"No." America said, firmly. May pouted for a moment, but it soon split into a smile. It didn't matter that they were trudging up from the safe room in the earliest hours of the morning, it would take a lot more than a veiled threat from K to keep a smile off of May's cheerful face. That was just her personality.

When they got to the second floor, Maxon carried Astra all the way back to Kenna and James' room. He pulled back the covers and tucked her in, blankets up to her chin, with a long kiss to her forehead. For a boy who might never have been tucked in in his life, he did a remarkably complete job of it.

Satisfied with his work, he followed Gerad into the next room over and sat with him on the edge of his bed for a minute. America stayed out in the hall, not wanting to pry into their conversation. Several minutes later, the lights were out in Gerad's room and Maxon was back.

"Ready to go?" he asked.

"Yes." America said, reaching for his hand the exact moment he offered it.

"Any more pains?"

"No. Mostly just stiffness from lying on that cot for so long."

Maxon mused on this for a moment. "Maybe we should get something more comfortable down there for you. I wouldn't want it to be torture for you to be there, I want you as comfortable as possible, especially as your belly grows."

America appreciated the sentiment, but honestly, she found the notion that Maxon thought she'd be spending enough time down there to warrant something more comfortable to be an unsettling one indeed.

It wasn't until she and Maxon had been walking, hand-in-hand, for five minutes that America realized that she didn't really know where they were going. They'd started off on their way to the hospital wing, but deviated and gone up a flight of stairs instead. Finally, they stopped in front of an unassuming door and, rather than waiting to summon a guard and announce them, Maxon simply knocked with all the authority he could muster.

They stood outside in silence, waiting for what felt like a lifetime, but beyond the door America could hear a distinct shuffling. Maxon squeezed her hand reassuringly as Dr. Ashlar, in blue pajamas and a flannel robe, swung the door before them wide open and then froze. "Your Majesty." his eyes widened in shock, then he turned to take in America. "Your Majest_ies_," he corrected himself, "How can I help you?" he fell into a belated bow.

"America… there was…" Maxon faltered, turning to America. He didn't really know what to say.

"I felt a stabbing pain about a half an hour ago, right in my lower abdomen. It was intense enough to alarm me, which made it far more than intense enough to alarm Maxon." When she said his name, America brushed her thumb against Maxon's wrist, still clasped close to her own.

Dr. Ashlar nodded, running a hand through his sleep-mussed salt-and-pepper hair, then crossing both arms at his chest. "Any other strange symptoms?"

"Symptoms?"

"Nausea, lower-back pain? Not to panic, both of those could be entirely normal, you _are_ pregnant and must expect some nausea and lower-back pain. I'm simply trying paint a fuller picture of your health."

"No nausea, and my back is fine. A little stiff, I slept on a cot for a few hours, but no pain." America said.

"A cot?" Dr. Ashlar asked, eyebrows raising. Maxon pointedly did not supply details, and after a moment, Dr. Ashlar nodded and asked, "Only one pain, correct?"

"Yes." America nodded, apprehensively.

Dr. Ashlar did not look the least bit alarmed. "Well, it sounds to me like round ligament pain, an entirely normal occurrence, but let's go up to the sonogram machine and have a look at the baby just to set our minds at ease."

It wasn't _his_ mind he was setting at ease, as he knew perfectly well, but America appreciated that Dr. Ashlar was going out of his way to stop them from feeling like overly-concerned first-time parents.

Dr. Ashlar fastened his flannel robe, slipped on a pair of house shoes lying just next to the entrance to his room, and softly closed the door behind him. It occurred to America that someone else might be sleeping in there. America's eyes flew to Dr. Ashlar's left hand, and sure enough, he bore a golden band on his ring finger.

Maxon was the first to speak, his voice seeming loud in the stillness of the Palace. "You mentioned what you thought it was… ligament pain?"

"Round ligament pain." Dr. Ashlar nodded. "Women always get it, and usually around week eighteen or so."

"What is it?" Maxon asked.

"Well, your Majesty—"

"Maxon." Maxon insisted. "Please. I can't be the King right now, a king must always be informed before seeking counsel from his advisers. If I'm going to be a skittish, know-nothing expectant father—" Dr. Ashlar chuckled at this description, "I really need you to treat me as the man and not the King." Maxon concluded.

Dr. Ashlar sighed, with a benevolent smile marking his kind face, "Well, sir, I can do that. But only between the hours of midnight and six AM, you're my king and sovereign at all other times."

"I can agree to those terms." Maxon smiled. "Now, about that…pain thing."

"Yes, Maxon." Dr. Ashlar chuckled. "Simply put, the baby is growing rapidly, in ways that are not quite visible to us from the outside. I'll bet Queen America can feel the difference though, can't you?"

"Yes." America nodded. "It's been messing with my center of gravity."

Dr. Ashlar nodded. "There are a few ligaments that surround Queen Amer—"

"America." America objected. "If Maxon gets to be an average citizen when it's five in the morning, then so do I."

Dr. Ashlar shook his head and cast his eyes to the ceiling as if begging some deity for patience, but he was good natured about it all. "There are a few ligaments that surround _America_'s uterus, keeping it snug and supporting it. One of those, the lower, is called the round ligament. It connects the uterus to the pelvis."

"So the pain I felt wasn't the baby?" America asked, in relief. "It was this ligament?"

"It sounds like it." Dr. Ashlar replied.

"Why did it happen?" Maxon asked. "Why does it happen to all women, like you said?"

"Well, Maxon, the baby is growing exponentially." Dr. Ashlar explained. "The round ligament is stretching as quickly as it can to help support the uterus and, in turn, the baby, but it's all happening a little fast right now. The ligament is more likely to spasm or strain, like any overused muscle, at sudden movements or when it grows fatigued."

"I suppose this was both of those." Maxon mumbled. Then he spoke up, "I mean, she was rising from sleep, and it was late in a long day for us."

Dr. Ashlar nodded sagely, "I wouldn't worry, sir."

"But—" Maxon faltered, unsatisfied. America knew exactly what he was thinking.

"Maxon wants to know if there's any way to stop it from happening again."

"Those exercises I gave you will help." Dr. Ashlar said, pointedly.

"I've been doing them." America promised at the betrayed look on Maxon's face. "Silvia has started holding my lunch hostage until I've gotten through them all."

Dr. Ashlar nodded with a laugh, "I'll add a couple more that will specifically target the round ligament. Just make sure that you're breathing deeply while you perform the exercises, delivering oxygen to the baby, and to the muscles you're targeting."

"I will." America frowned, feeling chastised. She'd been doing everything right, it wasn't her fault she'd been stabbed in the lower-belly by their baby.

The hospital wing looked eery at so early in the morning, just a couple of night nurses occasionally making rounds in the halls, looking like ghosts who'd just seen other, more remarkable ghosts in their surprise at seeing the King and Queen at this hour.

Dr. Ashlar turned on the sonogram machine and it hummed to life, but it took a little longer for some of his other machines to awaken. It appeared that he would do a quick, but complete examination of America to make sure everything was alright.

America wasn't sure when it happened, but at some point during Dr. Ashlar's steady pacing around the room, turning on all of the equipment, her heavy eyelids drifted closed, and she nodded off lying there on the exam bed. It couldn't have been too long before Maxon woke her with the featheriest of light kisses and a gentle stroke across her cheekbone. "Time to see the baby. I didn't want you to miss it. You slept straight through the blood pressure measurement."

America smiled sleepily, imagining sleeping through the tight constriction of her arm as Dr. Ashlar's machine took note of her vitals. "How was it?" America asked.

"The lowest reading so far, not that I'm surprised." Dr. Ashlar winked. "It's cheating to sleep through the blood pressure test, your Majesty."

"America." America reminded him with a yawn.

The baby was fine and beautiful and its heartbeat was a steady, reassuring rhythm. While they were watching, they saw the baby move on the monitor and America noticed the now familiar flutters in her stomach and gasped. "I felt that one." She grinned at Maxon's inquisitive look. For a night so full of fear and anxiety, Maxon's smile at this development was a beautiful sunrise.

They weren't able to linger too long with the live video of their baby in her womb, but Dr. Ashlar printed a fresh picture for Maxon, which he gawked at briefly and then determinedly stuffed in his right pocket. Right pocket baby, left pocket 'K'. Maxon's two most consuming obsessions.

It was time to get ready for the meeting being assembled in security room B. This time, instead of tense, pained silence, there was comfortable, hopeful silence as America and Maxon walked. Even after a night like the one they'd just lived through, seeing their baby put them in a precariously good mood.

Maxon left his hand wrapped around America's hip until they made it to her bedroom. Neither of them could attend a security meeting dressed as they were. America took a few steps forward, staring silently at her bed. "So he was really in here then?"

"Yes." Maxon frowned and then took a heavy seat on the edge of the bed where he must have found the note. It was where the one before that had been found, America remembered.

"I wonder if he touched anything…" America mused, turning to her vanity where photographs of her family and the Elite held places of honor. Had K gone through her correspondence? Found the old letters her father had sent her during the Selection? Somehow, that thought was worse than the idea of him rifling through her collection of Amberly's jewelry or toying with her perfume bottle to see what she smelled like. There was a long, fretful silence.

"I don't want you staying in here right now, Ames." Maxon said. His voice snapped her out of the trance that wondering what K had done in here had put her in. He sounded tentative, almost testing. He was saying this sentence, but he was thinking about something else entirely, and America wasn't sure what he really meant.

"We'll talk about it later." America finally answered. She didn't want to make more of a commitment about where she'd be sleeping until she knew what was really on Maxon's mind. She had a feeling she'd find out in the meeting.

While she chose the exact pair of black slacks and light blue blouse to wear to the meeting, Maxon returned to his room to fish out a fresh suit and tie. He did not dress in his room, though, he refused to leave America alone for that long. So they dressed together in her room, and he shaved while she tamed her hair into a neat knot at the nape of her neck.

While she painted the makeup onto her face, he leant against her vanity, facing her with his arms crossed. "I suppose it's not worth mentioning that you could stay in my room and get some rest? I could fill you in later."

"I'd have to be up again for breakfast anyway." America would have shrugged, but her eyeliner demanded absolute steadiness. The baby wasn't one for obeying eyeliner rules, though, it fluttered around as she filled in her lashes. "And I have a feeling that there are going to be some decisions made during this meeting. Decisions I'll want to weigh-in on."

"Probably." Maxon admitted.

"Then I'll sleep after breakfast." America concluded. "And so should you."

Maxon watched her put on a pair of diamond earrings and a golden bracelet he'd given her as one of her Christmas gifts last year, then she stood and pulled out a pair of black flats from her closet. Maxon raised his eyebrows at this, surprised. America usually made it a point to wear high heels to meetings with advisers, it was considered the 'queenly' thing to do. "Not after last night." America shook her head at his silent question. "My feet are still killing me."

Maxon frowned at this sympathetically and then drew her into his arms. It was almost startling how reassuring his embrace was, but she shouldn't have been surprised. He began to release her but she placed her hands flat on his chest and said, "Wait. I want to do this for a minute before we go to that stupid meeting."

"Hug?"

"Yes, please." She rested her head on his strong chest and listened for his heartbeat.

Maxon nodded and held her tightly, their bodies flush together, but then he hesitated. "I don't want to squish the baby. Is this okay?"

America nodded her head and chuckled, hearing the echo of Prince Maxon in King Maxon's question. "Yes, Maxon." She smiled. "It's hard to get a hug wrong."

He recognized the exchange, too, and kissed her hair affectionately.

"Holding your hand is nice, but we need to do this more often." America reflected when she finally released him and they left for the meeting. She already felt worlds better than she had before their long embrace.

"You won't hear any argument from me." Maxon agreed, with a tired smile.

Aspen was already in security room B, having a hushed conversation with August and Carter. Silvia sat at the conference table next to Gavril, splitting a bagel and a fresh pot of coffee with him.

"Coffee." Maxon whispered, almost a covetous sigh.

"I'll find Mary. I need something to eat anyway." America squeezed Maxon's hand.

Mary wasn't too hard to find, given that she was looking for America just as America was looking for her. They found each other at the end of the hallway outside of the security room.

"You and the girls had a warm breakfast?" America checked.

"Yes, your Majesty."

"Good. Are Paige and Esther going to have much work today?" she was worried about her maids being too exhausted to function.

"Not at all. They're stitching a few dresses and changing out the linen."

"That's fine." If Maxon ever let her sleep in her own room again, she wouldn't want it to be on sheets that K might have groped while he was waiting to kill her. "Give Paige the morning off so that she can get some sleep, and she'll switch out with you and Esther this evening so that you can both have an early night."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Now, we need lots of coffee for the briefing. Maxon's vanilla roast. A few snacks for the advisers wouldn't go amiss, either."

"Yes, ma'am."

"As for me, I need tea and lots of it. The lightly caffeinated breakfast tea should do fine." Caffeine wasn't great for the baby, but neither was the stress of being too tired to function at a security briefing. Lightly caffeinated was the best America could do, this morning.

"Right away." Mary turned, making her way to the kitchens, but America called out to stop her.

"Mary? Yogurt, cheese, crackers, and a banana." There was always a desperation to her tone when she talked about food she was craving, America noticed. Maybe it stemmed from being raised a Five and worrying that someone might refuse her the food one of these days. She didn't know how women without the means to feed these pregnancy cravings survived.

Mary smiled sweetly, always charmed by America's cravings. "All mixed together?" she chuckled.

America laughed, knowing it wasn't so strange a question, given the bizarre nature of most of her requests. "Not this time."

"Calcium, potassium, and salt." Mary said in a reassuring tone. "Those are all good things for balancing your electrolytes and keeping the baby healthy. I think your cravings are serving you well, ma'am."

America tilted her head to the side, "How did you… wait, _you__'__ve _been reading Maxon's pregnancy books?"

Mary nodded, with a gentle smile. "It helps me serve you, to understand what you're going through. His Majesty left one of his books in your room a few weeks ago, and he was there when I came in to tidy up. I asked him if I might borrow it."

America bit her lip, "So I'm the only one in the whole Palace who isn't reading those books?"

"I wouldn't worry, ma'am." Mary said, warmly. "You have enough to be getting on with. The King, Dr. Ashlar, and I are all keeping an eye on you. We won't let you get too far off track."

"Thank you, Mary." America smiled.

Mary nodded and headed off to the kitchens. America squared her shoulders and then returned to the security room to prepare for the meeting to come.

By the time Mary returned with the cart of goodies from the kitchens, Stavros had arrived at the Palace and was getting situated in his seat next to Maxon. America poured a cup of piping hot coffee for her husband and brought it to him, brushing her hand across the expanse of his broad shoulders as he looked up at her appreciatively and mumbled his thanks. Mary set America up with a personal pot of tea and more than enough of all of the snacks she'd requested. America began nibbling on a perfectly ripe, bright yellow banana while Mary finished serving the room. As soon as she was gone, the room still echoing from Mary closing the door behind her on her way out, Maxon started the meeting.

"Officer Leger, what did your investigations uncover? Report."

"Yes, sir." Aspen said, immediately. "It is as we suspected. The waitstaff contracted for your birthday party never made it back to their restaurant."

"Never made it back?" America asked, surprised.

Carter nodded and added, "We have alerted the Angeles authorities, and they are scouting the area for bodies."

"_Bodies_?" America asked, stunned. "Wait… you think—"

"They were attacked on their way to the Palace from the restaurant." Carter nodded. The room was grim and silent.

"That explains why they were running late." Silvia said softly, leaning in and speaking directly into America's ear.

"Are you telling me," America frowned, tension in her lips as she addressed the room, "That the rebels donned the uniforms of Palace employees and infiltrated Palace walls in plain sight… _again_?"

Maxon stood, knocking his chair down behind him in his fervor. He charged to the back of the meeting room, paced back and forth twice, then walked up to the food cart and seized an empty mug by the handle, launching it against the wall in one motion so hard that the mug shattered into nothing more than tiny crumbles of porcelain.

The entire room sat in silence, stunned.

Maxon straightened his tie and the sleeves of his jacket, then walked back over to the table, gently setting his chair back on its feet before taking his seat. He cleared his throat and turned to Aspen, "Fix this." he commanded, his voice crackling with cold fury. For a moment, it was as if America was sitting next to Clarkson, not Maxon.

"I've already had an idea." Aspen reassured him. "Identification cards. Anyone who works for the Palace or who we contract must have their photograph and fingerprint taken and recorded onto a card prior to their appointment, and that card will match our records. They must show the card before entering the gates."

"How much money would such a measure cost?" Maxon asked, tersely.

"N…Not much." Aspen didn't really know. He'd only thought of it in the last few hours, America could tell.

"Clear it through Jepsen, tell the man to raise the damn tax rate if that's what it takes to pay for it, and then get those damn cards made. This kind of thing never happens again, am I clear?" Maxon commanded.

"Yes, sir." Aspen nodded.

"I can't believe I had to say that. I can't believe I had to tell you not to let this happen again." Maxon seethed.

"Sir—" Carter began.

"Enough." Maxon said, coldly. "If rebels infiltrate us like that again, you're all fired and good luck with your new lives as Sevens."

"Maxon." America shook her head. Such idle threats did not become him. God save the man who underestimated Maxon's protectiveness of America, she knew, but he was eliminating the caste system. He would never use that system as a form of punishment.

"No." Aspen shook his head at America. "The King is right. I have one job, your Majesty. To keep rebels away from you. If I can't do that, I don't deserve to be here. You need someone who can keep you safe."

"You're damn right we do." Maxon growled.

America turned to Maxon, annoyed at his outbursts, and snapped, "Instead of being furious at Aspen, how about you _both_ get mad at the rebels?" she looked between Aspen, who was mad at himself, and Maxon, who was livid at the head of the royal guard. "Or should I summon K and let him know how effectively he's divided the King and his most loyal defender?"

Maxon continued to glare at Aspen, but it was now a frozen expression. The sentiment was withering away beneath the facade.

Stavros contributed, "Her Majesty has a good point, sir. We need to be united now more than ever."

Maxon swallowed heavily and then dropped his gaze to the table in front of him. "Fine."

"Go shake his hand, Maxon." America said.

"What?"

"He risks his life everyday for ours, he's going to help us hunt down K, and he's your best damn friend, so go shake his hand, Maxon." America repeated. "It's one thing when you and I fight, or when he and I fight, but I'm not suffering through _you_ and _him _fighting. I'm pregnant, I'm cranky, and I _don__'__t_ have the patience."

Maxon looked like he'd rather eat his chair than stand up from it, so America nodded Aspen over, and Aspen rose and crossed the room. Aspen held his hand out in front of Maxon and Maxon simply stared at it.

"I'm really sorry, Maxon." Aspen said, quietly. It was an apology just for Maxon, not for 'King Maxon' or any of the others in the room to overhear, though they heard it just fine.

Maxon sighed and nodded, "I didn't see it coming, either. We got complacent." Maxon accepted the hand and shook it firmly.

America nodded between them and then took a long sip of tea. Aspen returned to his seat and Maxon sighed. "Alright, then." he said. That was that. It was time to move on.

Stavros nodded. "Let's talk about containment. We don't want news of a Palace infiltration spreading, it would play havoc with the polling numbers. Who knows that this happened?"

"We do." Maxon said. "Everyone in this room. As well as Officer Leger's and Officer Woodwork's lieutenants. And America's family."

"My closest advisers and my maids were in the safe room with us." America supplied. "But they'd never breathe a word."

"So there's no chance this could leak out to the public, then?" Stavros checked.

The whole room looked back and forth at each other, considering. "I can't imagine it." Maxon shook his head. "The people who know about this are loyal to a fault."

"I suppose K knows." America mentioned. "And his rebels. If we don't mention something, they might."

Gavril nodded from his seat next to Silvia, "You're right about that, your Majesty. Though what they could really gain from it is beyond me."

"It would make the royal guard look like idiots more than anything else, if they bragged about infiltrating the Palace." Aspen frowned. "It wouldn't reflect poorly on the royal family."

"Right, then." Stavros had made a decision. "Fadaye? Draft a statement to release if news of the infiltration leaks."

"Yes, sir." Gavril nodded, standing and crossing to a cabinet at the back of the room from which he withdrew a pad of paper and a pen.

"Keep that statement under lock and key, no one sees it unless we have to use it. If all goes well, this infiltration will remain a state secret forever."

"Yes, sir." Gavril agreed, jotting down the instructions, or maybe drafting the statement. He was a talented man, America was sure he could come up with something easily.

"Right, then." Stavros nodded. "Leger? Any indication of what the rebels did while they were here?"

"Served drinks?" America suggested.

"Inexpertly." Silvia added, and the two shared a smirk.

"This is no laughing matter." Maxon reminded them with a frown.

"No one's laughing, Maxon." America promised.

"None of the guards on the third floor reported suspicious activity, sir." Carter answered Stavros' query.

"Then they all need their eyes examined." Maxon said. "Because there was a man in my wife's bedroom last night intent on murdering both her and our unborn baby. _On my birthday._" It was the insult to his injury.

"We think, whoever K is, he's got knowledge of the secret passageways." Aspen said. "And the guard rotation. When you and America aren't on the third floor, the rotation schedule is different. There are guards at the main entrances by the staircases awaiting your return, but not guarding your bedrooms or the passageways. The only way K could have made it all the way into America's bedroom would have been through a passage." Aspen reasoned.

"Unless one of the royal guard is lying." Gavril added, frowning.

Maxon considered this, sharing dark looks with Carter, Aspen, and August in turn. Finally, he replied, "No. I won't believe that. The men who guard the third floor are our most loyal."

"I agree." America said. "We know their wives. Some of them have young children."

No one said what they were all thinking. That knowing someone's family was no guarantee of having their loyalty. Still, a rebel amongst Maxon's and America's personal guard was the least likely source of the betrayal, and it would only weaken them if they stopped trusting their closest guards.

"Regardless of who it might be, it is safe to presume that we have a few spies in our midst." Stavros said. "And until we're certain of who we can trust, we must all be on alert."

There was a grim recognition of this reality reflected in the faces of everyone in the room.

"They brought a team." America mused, next. "If it was just K, here to leave a threatening note in my bedroom-"

"Here to _kill_ you, Ames." Maxon reminded her. She supposed this was really where their conceptions of K differed.

"Why bring a whole team and serve drinks all night?" America finished her question.

August finally spoke up, which was a rarity in these types of meetings. "If it had been us, we'd have been looking for some information." he announced.

Stavros sought clarification, "You mean, the Northern rebels? If you'd infiltrated the Palace in this way, you'd have been seeking-"

"Knowledge. They clearly weren't after much in the way of a body count, or we'd all be dead." If possible, Aspen's expression grew even more tormented at the realization that this was true. "They needed something they could only get from here, and they snuck in when they saw an opportunity to do so."

"Targeting the Queen wouldn't have been the main purpose." Stavros mused. "No… Queen America seems to be K's preoccupation, specifically. We've determined he's likely a rebel leader, possibly the man from the hostage videos… it would make sense that they would permit him to go off on his own and perform his own mission, if he's some kind of leader."

"So we've got a rebel leader hellbent on personally assassinating my wife, no good way to keep him out of the Palace, and no clear indication of how to find him when he's not." Maxon brooded. Then he shook his head, as if making a tough decision. "We need to talk about Atlin." he said, grimly.

A ripple swept through the room, but America couldn't tell why. What did the province of Atlin have to do with anything? Maxon, Stavros, Gavril, Silvia, and August all wore matching expressions of great gravity. Only Carter and Aspen met America's gaze with questioning uncertainty. The Palace outsiders didn't know something that the natives knew.

Stavros spoke first, "Your Majesty, I wouldn't—"

"I would." Maxon said. "I would do anything to protect my family."

"Sir," Gavril attempted. "The approval ratings—"

"I can apologize to our daughters once they're born and old enough to understand that I'd rather they be alive and married to the Prince of New Asia than be dead heirs to an unclaimed Illéan throne."

America turned to Maxon, stunned. "What are you talking about?" She'd never, _never _heard him talk this way.

"There's a safe house in Atlin at an undisclosed location. It was built for my grandmother after Justin Illéa died and she married my grandfather. She spent the majority of her pregnancy there and came back to give birth to my father here. My mother went to the same place while she was expecting me, and it kept us both far away from the rebels."

It suddenly dawned on America what Maxon was asking her to do.

"No." America said, flatly.

"America—"

"No." America repeated, emphatically.

"But the rebels—"

"_No_, Maxon." America snapped. She couldn't believe he would even think to ask this of her. It was an affront to everything that made their relationship strong. Where was the man who couldn't go two hours without finding out where she was in the Palace and checking in on her? How could that man even consider shipping her off to Atlin at a time like this?

There was an awkward tension in the room as America and Maxon locked eyes and silent conversations started flying between them. Lots of 'How dare you's and 'How could you not's and 'never going to happen's and 'responsibility to our child as well as our people's.

Gavril cleared his throat nervously, "Maybe we should give the King and Queen a moment—"

"No." Maxon said, clearly. "You all need to be a part of this conversation. You get to weigh in on the decision."

America glared at him resentfully then said, "You can't ship me off to Atlin. "

"I can."

"I'm done _cowering_, Maxon! That's not what we do anymore." she reminded him.

"Maybe it is." he shook his head.

"I swear to God, Maxon, you force me to go to Atlin against my will and I'll leave you to fight for the rebels. You'll have a rebel queen on your hands." she threatened, and in the heat of the moment, she couldn't decide if she meant it or not.

"I will do _whatever it takes_ to keep you and that baby safe. And if the Palace isn't safe, I know one place that is." he frowned.

"If the Palace isn't safe, then we _make the Palace safe_. We don't let these bullies force us out of our home!" she reminded him. "We are the King and Queen of Illéa and we do _not _bow down to anyone."

"If we remove you from the Palace, K won't be able to find you the next time he comes looking." Maxon reasoned, desperation tinging his voice.

America shook her head. "If you remove me from the Palace, K will find me wherever else you've put me. The only difference is that here, I have you to look after me. In Atlin, I'll be alone."

"I wouldn't make you go alone." Maxon frowned, but she knew he'd heard her argument. "Your family and Dr. Ashlar would go with you."

America shook her head. "I would rather draw a line in the sand, Maxon. I would rather stand up and tell the rebels, in no uncertain terms, that they cannot drive the King and Queen out of the Palace. That nothing they _ever_ do will lead to an abandoned throne."

Maxon was visibly wilting at her words, shoulders heavy with the knowledge that she had a good point. "That's fine in theory. But we have reality to consider, the reality of our baby. Every decision we make needs to be in the baby's best interest."

"We've spent a lot of time talking about what kind of world we want for our baby." America reminded him. "Making this stand _is_ in its best interest. I don't want your heir to be born into a world in which rebels decide where kings and queens live. We can't allow them to think they have that much power, emboldened rebels are _not_ in the best interest of our baby."

Maxon simply shook his head. All that mattered to him in that moment was that he never had to hold his dead wife and dead baby in his arms. Fear was circumventing all form of logic.

Gavril timidly interjected, "Sir, we're making great strides toward shoring up your approval ratings and signing that amendment into place. You're at 62% joint approval as of our last poll, with several public events planned in the next few weeks to bolster that number, and all we need is to get to 75% by December. I highly recommend that you stay committed to the amendment, sir. Allowing all of your children to be considered heirs to the throne would greatly strengthen your rule and discourage the rebels."

Maxon looked miserable, "You mean they'd have to kill _all_ of my children to eliminate my line, instead of just my boys?"

America bit her lip, heart aching at the look of pain in Maxon's eyes, and she reached out, taking his hand in hers. "Okay. Let's not make any big decisions right now. You're tired and scared and shaken up after last night. For now, let's just go eat waffles with Astra and then get caught up on some sleep. We can make this decision after we see Aspen and Carter's new security measures, and after August does a little digging into what the rebels were looking for last night."

Maxon sighed heavily and ran his free hand over his eyes, but he nodded a gentle agreement.

"For the record," America added, knowing she had the trump card and playing it as gently as she could, "You promised me that you'd be with me for this pregnancy. It was one of two conditions that I outlined before I ever agreed to have this baby. You promised me your physical presence and infinite massages. You can't ship me off to Atlin and still be considered a man of your word."

Maxon looked her over, thinking this through, and then, with a heavy expression, he said, "Leger? Woodwork? Illéa?"

"Yes, sir?" All three men replied in unison.

"Get to work." he commanded, standing. As per protocol, all of the advisers stood with him. He pulled America's chair out from behind her and offered her an arm up.

She felt another sharp, stabbing pain as she drew herself upright and winced, clutching at her round ligament before she could stop herself. Maxon frowned, clearly lost in the thought of what it would mean if he actually sent her to Atlin. He wouldn't be able to, for instance, rub her back soothingly after a pain, as he was now.

They could hear the advisers burst into quiet, urgent conversation about what would come next, but America and Maxon didn't stay to listen. There was a three-and-a-half year old redhead in the dining room waiting for her breakfast date with the King.


	36. Chapter 36

Something entirely unexpected and borderline unprecedented happened to America on Wednesday morning. After a quick meeting with May to make a few decisions regarding their upcoming clothing drive, America found herself with actual free time on her hands. She didn't have anywhere to be until lunch, and Maxon was busy in a meeting about the new security measures Aspen was enforcing on the Palace. America spent a half a minute thinking about joining them in there, because that would have been the responsible thing to do, but before she could force herself into it her feet had already taken her to the music room on the third floor.

She walked past the precious instruments Maxon had given her as wedding presents nearly every day, but they'd been collecting dust for almost a year now. Suddenly, the idea of going down for that security meeting was unthinkable.

Her first move was to sit down in front of the piano and trace her fingers over the keys, just enjoying the feel of them. Maxon had spared no expense, making sure to gift her the finest instruments in all of Illéa. He'd never wanted her to be sorry for moving into the Palace with him on any level, even if that level was only missing the music she used to made in Carolina, so he'd made sure she had everything her heart could desire as wedding gifts. And really, why bother telling him that _he_ was the only thing her heart truly desired when he was so willing to splurge on these incredible instruments anyway?

She played a few notes, and considered playing a few more, but it was difficult to get comfortable on the piano bench. The way the baby was positioned, it was getting harder to breathe when she was sitting down and her internal organs were all squished aside to make room for it. What she really needed was an instrument that she could play while standing.

She smiled at the thought and turned on the bench, standing and crossing over to a beautiful wooden table atop which sat a top-of-the-line violin case. America opened it, reveling in the crisp sound the snaps made as she opened them, and withdrawing from the velvety cushions her own precious violin from Carolina.

Maxon had given her a new violin, of course, but he was adamant that she hold on to the old one, _her_ violin, and Magda had been more than happy to bring it with the Singers when they moved across the country.

According to Mary, one of the maids was assigned to this room three times a week, and that maid came in to clean and keep the instruments in tune. America tested the unknown maid's work by drawing her bow across the taught strings and listening to the crisp sound that echoed out, a smile stretching across her face. All this time, her violin had been ready and waiting for her.

America carefully adjusted her dress to allow for maximum breathing room, not that the dress was really the culprit, and then she drew up her violin and bow. For a moment, she wasn't even sure what to play first. Then, as if her fingers had lives of their own, her hands began running through the entire gamut of warmup exercises that, in a different lifetime, she'd practiced every morning.

Soon she was playing her way through songs she'd forgotten she even knew. Sometimes she had no idea what note would come next, but her hands remembered and they never faltered once. The baby had been fluttering around within her all morning, almost to the point of distraction, but it had gone noticeably still since she'd hit the first few notes. The baby, it seemed, was entranced by this music.

It was a long time after she started playing when she finally noticed him. She wasn't exactly sure when Maxon got there, but she heard his warm applause as she ended a particularly laborious but beautiful sonata. She rounded on him with a smile. "What are you doing here?"

"I came to find you for lunch."

"It's lunchtime?" America blinked, stunned. Between all of the warmups and all of the songs she'd played, the morning had flown by. She turned to the plush case and replaced her violin inside, setting the bow in its compartment and closing the lid.

Maxon crossed to her in three large steps and swept her left hand into his, pressing her fingertips to his lips. She bore the marks of having played for so long without calluses built up, her fingertips had deep ridges cut into them and some of those ridges were purpling with bruises. "I haven't heard you play in ages, Ames." Maxon said, smiling.

"That's because I haven't played in ages. There's just no time."

"We can find time for you." He frowned.

"I don't think so. Especially not once the baby gets here." America shook her head.

"Hmm. Yes. The baby." he mulled that over and placed each of his hands on her burgeoning stomach as he did so. The baby sprang back to life at his touch and began wiggling around again, and America rolled her eyes. She really did have a dynamic duo on her hands. "We could still find a way. We should start interviewing nannies soon, that'll help."

"Eugh." America frowned.

"Really? Even if their being with the baby for an hour allows for you to continue playing that beautiful music?"

America sighed, "Did you have good nannies?"

"I had the best nannies." Maxon nodded.

"Well, you turned out okay, I guess. Fine, we can start interviewing nannies." America shrugged.

Maxon chuckled and pecked the tip of her nose with his lips, then began peppering her cheekbones with kisses, back and forth.

"What are you doing?" America finally asked with a little giggle.

"Your freckles are showing, my love. And I want to eat them up." He continued his assault.

It was true, the freckles on her face and arms had become much more pronounced in the past few days. She hadn't spent much more time out in the sun, either, so she was forced to conclude that this was just yet another weird pregnancy thing.

"Should we go down to lunch?" America asked, trying not to be distracted by Maxon's feathery lip-lashing.

"Mmm." Maxon paused. "Not sure. I need to kiss all of your freckles first."

America lifted an arm and held it out to him, displaying hundreds of golden brown dots. "We're going to starve, if that's the attitude you're taking."

"I like a challenge." He grinned mischievously, before assaulting her arm with kisses.

"Come on, your Majesty." America rolled her eyes. "Kiss and walk at the same time, I'm hungry." America tried not to blush when he did, in fact, continue kissing her arm all the way down to the dining room, despite the pointed throat clearing and stifled chuckles of the guards they passed on their way.

They were having lunch with Silvia and Gavril that day, both of whom were still pointedly trying to pretend like they weren't seeing each other outside of work. That afternoon, America and Maxon were going out into Angeles for a photo opportunity, and they would get their final briefing from the Palace's chief image experts over salads, soups, and sandwiches.

"Your Majesties." Gavril said as Maxon and America entered the dining room and Maxon finally gave up pelting America's arm with kisses.

"Hello Gavril." America smiled, taking her seat.

"You are looking absolutely radiant today, your Majesty." Gavril said, still standing.

"Thank you."

"It's all of her lovely freckles." Maxon boasted, taking his seat so that Gavril and Silvia could take their seats as well. "God, I love being married to a redhead. Freckles, Gavril. Have you ever seen anything more entrancing?"

Gavril chuckled and glanced at Silvia as though he had seen something more entrancing, but he spoke to humor Maxon, "No, sir."

"Now, then." Maxon said, as an under-butler came in serve the food. "Officer Leger went over security measures for the trip to Angeles with me as part of our meeting this morning, but I still want to keep it short. We're scheduled for a three hour trip, from the time we leave the Palace gates to the moment we cross back through them, and I'd like to cut 45 minutes off of that estimate."

"Because I'm so much safer in the Palace?" America asked, quirking an eyebrow.

"Because it's the safest place. Other than Atlin." Maxon reminded her, firmly. He'd been keeping the threat of Atlin held over her head for the past three days, and she was getting sick of it. He couldn't seem to make up his mind about it either way, not that they'd spent any time really discussing the matter. Still, she didn't want to pick a fight with him this time, so she let it drop.

During this exchange, Gavril pulled out his copy of the schedule for the day and was looking through it. "We can change the facility tour route, cut off some time that way. We can probably cut five minutes from your arrival speech." Gavril said, thoughtfully. "I've been thinking about cutting the section on arts-specific curriculum, I think it's redundant and might be considered pandering to lower-castes. Let me see the cue cards, sir, and I'll do some editing."

Maxon fished around in his inside jacket pocket, pulling out several cue cards that he would be reading that afternoon in front of _Report_ cameras, a few magazine columnists, and, of course, the paparazzi. Gavril took them from him and got to work while everyone else started eating. The french onion soup was delicious enough to evoke a heavy sigh from America as it splashed across her tongue. Maxon smirked at this, but he'd stopped commenting on her food-related noises years ago.

"Do they have french onion soup like this in Atlin?" America murmured, unable to stop herself from needling Maxon a little bit.

Maxon rolled his eyes, "Sure. I'd send the Palace chef with you, America."

"You're damn right you'd send the chef with me. I'd be eating delicious soup like this all day and all night and you'd be eating nothing but bologna sandwiches, and it would serve you right." America frowned. Maxon pointedly ignored this.

"Um, Maxon?" a timid voice called from the entrance to the dining room, and everyone paused what they were doing to look up.

"Gerad?" Maxon asked, eyebrows raised.

"You said to ask again… about if I could maybe go with you and Ames today. I asked you yesterday and you said to ask again later." Gerad ran a worried hand through his hair, a habit he'd learned watching Maxon.

"Oh, that's right." Maxon breathed. "I don't know, Ger. It's kind of—"

"I want to help." Gerad begged. "It'll all be kids my age at the learning center today, and I can go play with them, and it'll help make the new law, won't it Mr. Fadaye?" Gerad looked to Gavril for support.

Gavril smiled benevolently, "It's true that Mister Gerad's presence at the learning center would make a nice addition to the photographs." Gavril told Maxon.

Maxon sighed heavily and considered it. They were going to tour an afternoon learning center in Angeles, a facility that was funded by a prominent socialite Two who had once been a Three, and run by her sister, who was still a Three and had spent many years as a teacher. This was a place that accepted children of all castes and held free afternoon activities for them, providing them with a healthy snack and a supportive place to play sports or try new art forms or read. The hope was that the presence of the royal family at a place like this would lend it local support and lead to other similar types of facilities being founded in other provinces.

"You want to go so that people can take pictures of you, Ger?" America asked, buying Maxon a few moments to deliberate.

"If it will help the baby. And I want to see what kinds of stuff they do there, and if they have good soccer balls. If they don't have good soccer balls, I want to give them some of mine because I can always get more."

America blinked, stunned by her brother's kindness, and then looked over at Maxon imploringly. Gerad had won her over with that.

"It's going to be dangerous, Gerad, you know that." Maxon reminded him, unconvinced. "The guards are going to secure everything that they can, but we never know what could happen with the rebels."

Gerad nodded, seriously. "That's why I want to go, too. Brothers have to protect their sisters."

This had been the thing to say to Maxon, who smiled over at Gerad, clearly now onboard. But this gave America pause. "Ger, I have a whole army to protect me, you don't have to protect me."

"Yes, I do. I'm your brother." Gerad answered simply.

"Boys shouldn't feel the need to protect girls just because they're girls, Ger." America said, kindly.

"No, _that_'s not what I mean." Gerad frowned, realizing he wasn't making himself clear. "I mean, even if I was your sister, it would be my job to protect you like you and Kenna and May protect me. But I'm not, I'm your brother, but I still feel guilty when something happens and I'm not there to help."

Maxon nodded, understanding completely. "It's okay with me, if it's okay with the boss." He turned to America for final approval.

America sighed and nodded. Gerad hardly ever got to get out of the Palace, this would be good for him. Barring any violent rebel attacks and mass blood-shed, that is.

"Thanks, Ames!" Gerad grinned.

"Alright, then." Maxon said, returning to his soup. "You can come along, but you have to do everything Aspen, Ames or I say, okay? That's very important"

Gerad grinned and nodded, "I will, Maxon."

America sighed and looked down at her plate, "You hungry, Ger?"

"Yeah."

"Come here." They all had a half a sandwich, sliced in triangles, to go with their soup and salad, and America picked her triangle sandwich up. "Here. The baby doesn't like swiss cheese right now." America told him, and he took it from her, eagerly biting in.

"That's okay." Gerad replied, mouth full of food, nearly sending Silvia into some kind of conniption. "It's just a baby. It might like swiss cheese when it gets bigger. Sometimes I like carrots now, and I didn't when I was little." he explained.

"Take this, " America handed him a crisp red apple from the fruit bowl in the middle of the dining table, "And go tell Mom where you're going. Then go wash up and get ready for the trip." America pecked her brother on the cheek and he ran off, sandwich and apple in hand.

"We'll be very lucky if our kid is half as good as your brother." Maxon marveled, returning to his soup.

"He's all Dad, that boy." America shook her head in wonder. "All the rest of us remember Dad as clear as day, Gerad's the only one who can't really remember him, and Gerad is the one who is Dad's little clone. How is that possible?"

"Maybe he holds on to your dad in a different way, since he can't recall clear moments and events. Maybe he holds on to feelings and impressions, more the essence of your father. If he internalized that over things your dad said or did, it makes sense that he's better at emulating him." Maxon suggested. America stared into her soup, weakly, thinking this over. "Although," Maxon added, "It's worth noting that I see a lot of your father in you, too. More than you think. And I know he'd be proud of you. I certainly am."

America could feel heat in her cheeks as she blushed at this praise. She didn't know how to respond, but she glanced over at him and grinned, before returning her attention to her food in a newly cheerful mood.

* * *

After finalizing the details of the trip with Gavril and Silvia, and finishing lunch while they did it, America went upstairs to get ready for the public outing. She was expecting to find Mary up there waiting for her, as she was no longer allowed to be in her room alone, but when she walked in, she found Esther.

"Oh. Hello, Esther."

"Your Majesty." Esther sank into a curtsey. "One of the maids is sick and Mary is busy rearranging our schedules to cover for her." That was one of Mary's many duties, as head of the Queen's staff. "I'm here to prepare you for the press event."

America smiled, "Mary must have a lot of faith in you, to trust you like this." she turned and Esther began unbuttoning America's dress.

"It was really more that Paige has the day off, Ma'am." Esther's voice smiled, though America couldn't see her face.

America realized that this was her first chance to talk privately with Esther since Esther's promotion. "How do you like being a Queen's maid? Is it working out for you? I know it's a very different job from the serving maid you were before."

"It is very different, but I'm learning so much, and I am so well respected now. Mary, Paige, and I are the first to be served in the servant's dining room."

"That must be nice." America said, realizing that she'd never even seen where the servants took their meals.

"I feel as if I've found my place in the Palace now, ma'am. I'm very grateful for your faith in me."

"I'm very grateful to you, for keeping my secret when I needed you to. That demonstrated so much loyalty to me, and I need to keep that kind of loyalty close at hand."

Esther didn't respond at first. When she did, it was carefully, "You inspire loyalty, ma'am. I was thrilled when I got the job at the Palace, but not because I would get to serve the royal family. It was just the best job I could have hoped for in my caste. It wasn't until I started serving you that you inspired that kind of loyalty in me, the loyalty that led me to keep your secret."

"What did I do?" America asked, turning to face Esther and stepping out of her dress as Esther collected it to hang up.

"…You knew my name." Esther said, simply.

"Your name?"

"I was called off of my usual rounds because I was near at hand when the King sent word from a budget meeting that they were ready for lunch. I'd only been working at the Palace for a couple of months, and I'd never been the only maid in a room full of advisers before. I didn't know what to expect."

"You were afraid?"

"Not fearful. Only nervous." Esther assured her, turning to the enormous closet and disappearing inside to find the dress Mary had chosen for the afternoon outing.

"So what happened?" America asked, breathlessly, absent-mindedly rubbing a hand soothingly over her belly as the baby danced inside of her.

Esther didn't reply at first, and then a moment later she reappeared carrying a simple white day dress with a deep v-neck and blue trimming along the cuffs of the three-quarter length sleeves and the three-quarter length skirt. "Well, I went in to see his Majesty and collect all of the food orders. I thought I'd break my ankles, my legs were shaking so badly as I curtsied for them."

"Was Maxon kind?"

"He was… nonchalant. Distracted, I think. He said nothing except his order and a simple 'thank you'."

"But where was I?" America asked.

"You came later, your Majesty. Don't you remember?" Esther reminded her with a smile, tugging the white dress over America's head and then adjusting it so that it hung off her shoulders, breasts, baby bump, and hips in exactly the right way. "You stopped me on my way back with the cart."

"And I remembered your name?"

"You thanked me by name as I took a very special note in to your husband." Esther smiled, glancing down at America's stomach as America's face registered recognition. "Not many people in the Palace knew my first name yet, and of course, my last name was erased when I came here to start work."

America nodded, sadly. She knew about this practice, taking away the maids' last names and replacing them with 'Pal' like some kind of cattle branding. She'd argued for Maxon to end the practice, that it was just another way to legally own women, but he'd reasoned that once the Sixes were subsumed into the Fives, that practice would disappear anyway. Why waste time with a single battle when the war will take care of the problem?

"Mary oversees all new maid hires." America said, as Paige ushered her over to her vanity and began to remove America's makeup with a moist towelette. "She shows me the files of the women she selects, and I give final approval. It's one of my duties as Queen. That's where I saw your name."

Esther nodded, "I know that. But to _remember_ our names, even when all we've ever been to you is a picture in a file… that's not what we've come to expect from royalty, ma'am."

America shrugged and took a breath. "Well… I was nothing but a picture in a file, too, once. That's how I ended up in Maxon's Selection. I know what it's like to be a picture in a file."

"You do great things, ma'am. Unexpectedly great things, even the little things you do can be great. It had been a whole week since anyone had called me by my name, I was beginning to fear I'd lost myself, and all of the sudden I heard my name on the lips of a queen." Esther shook her head like she still couldn't believe it.

America sat there, staring at her own reflection for a moment, thinking back on the day she'd first told Maxon that she was pregnant. "Esther?"

"Yes, ma'am?"

"What was your last name before you came to the Palace?"

"It hardly matters, ma'am."

"Did you like your last name before?"

"I did, ma'am. It wasn't anything remarkable, but it reminded me of my family." she said, softly.

"Would you tell me, then? Please?"

Esther nodded as she removed the bobby pins from America's hair.

"My last name was Fields, your Majesty."

"Esther Fields." America smiled.

"Not anymore." Esther reminded her. She bit her lip nervously, "Please don't tell Mary or Paige that I've told you—"

"Don't worry, Esther. You keep my secrets, I keep yours." America reassured her, and Esther smiled.

* * *

Maxon was nervous in the seat next to her, and the tension in his body was setting America's teeth on edge. The closer they got to leaving the Palace, the more misgivings he'd voiced, until finally they sat together in the back seat of their idle car, getting ready to leave, and he was on tenterhooks.

"K could be anywhere." Maxon seethed.

"Which is why we're no safer locked away in the Palace than we are in Angeles." America reminded him. They'd had this conversation at length, with multiple advisers, the day before.

"I have a bad feeling about this."

"No worse than your feelings about _everything_ right now, Maxon, you're stressed out over K's note and it's messing with your mind." America said.

Maxon leant his head back against the seat of the car and sighed heavily, then lolled over to rest on her shoulder. "I don't want to send you to Atlin." he confessed with a frown.

"I know you don't, Maxon." America said, surprised. Of all the times to finally talk about it, she wasn't expecting him to bring this up now.

"But I want to be the kind of king who could." he reasoned, and America turned her head to kiss his golden hair.

"I don't think you do."

"My father did it without a second thought. It was what was best for my mother, me, and the country. But I can't do it, I can't be without you for that long. I can't do what's right for you, because I'm weak."

"You are _not_ weak, Maxon." America scolded him. "And the fact is that you _could_ do it. You're a great king and you're not dependent on me for that. You could send me to Atlin and Illéa would be more than fine. But you love me, and you would be sad to send me away. You want to be the kind of husband and father who holds my hair during morning sickness, fetches me food at all hours of the day and night when I have cravings, rubs my back when it's all seized up in painful knots, and holds my hand through every last contraction. You can't do all of that if I'm in Atlin."

"I'm worried I'm being selfish. That I could be making the greatest mistake of my life by keeping you here to make myself feel better, even though you're in danger."

"I'm in danger everywhere, Maxon." America reminded him. "K could follow me to Atlin."

Maxon frowned. "You might like Atlin. You might like being away from the Palace for a while."

America imagined the safe house, it was probably luxurious if Queen Abby had been its original occupant. Amberly would have softened the place greatly, adding homier touches during her stay. It might make a secure and wonderful vacation home, soothing and relaxing during an otherwise stressful pregnancy.

"Maxon." America said, and he sat up straight so that he could look at her. "If I wanted to be away from the Palace, I'd have gone back to Carolina and you'd be in this car with Kriss right now."

Maxon shook his head, sadly. "Kriss would be in Atlin. It would have been a no-brainer to send Kriss to Atlin, the easiest decision of my life."

America sighed and looked into Maxon's worried brown eyes. She kissed him hard, placing a hand on his cheek and stroking that smooth skin softly with her thumb. "I love you." she told him.

"I love you, too."

"If my being in Atlin makes any of this easier on you, I'll go. But I would much rather stay." she said. "And not just for the amendment."

Maxon smiled weakly at her. "I appreciate that, Ames."

"Does it help?"

"It does, actually." he sighed. "It means I won't run the risk of losing you either way. You'll forgive me if I have to make the hard decision."

America linked her hand with his and frowned. Then she said, "I really would take your chef with me."

"Darling, I wouldn't dream of depriving you of him." Maxon laughed.

"You'd be stuck eating burnt pasta every night."

"There are other chefs in Angeles, I could invite any of them to the Palace."

"No, I would ban them."

"Oh." Maxon laughed and then pressed a kiss to her red hair.

The car door opened and Gerad climbed in, followed by Silvia.

"Did she give you the whole 'representing the monarchy with your behavior' lecture?" America asked her brother, with a laugh.

Maxon consulted his watch, "It couldn't have been. It's only been twenty minutes. He must have gotten the abridged version."

Silvia scowled at them, but she wasn't really very annoyed. Now that they were all in the car, it, along with two others carrying extra guards, began to roll forward down the long Palace drive.

When they were around the corner from the learning center, Silvia pulled a small clipboard and checklist out of her bag and began to scan it. "King Maxon, Gavril asked me to remind you that you're to spend three minutes before the speech answering paparazzi questions."

"He'll time me?"

"Of course. And Queen America, while his Majesty answers those questions, Gavril has arranged a line of babies for you to pose with."

America grinned. "A line of babies? Sounds like my kind of party."

"All under five years old, they'll be on your side of the barricade, their parents will be just behind them on the other side. Spend plenty of time interacting with the children, but remember, you mustn't kneel to be at their eye level, when you crouch down, your knees mustn't touch the ground." Heaven forbid the Queen of Illéa bow down to a two year old, America shook her head.

"I'm staying with Ames." Gerad announced to the car at large.

"Are you going to help Aspen and the guards keep a look out?" Maxon smiled.

"Yeah. Carter showed me how to scan the crowd, I'm going to do that while I sign autographs."

"Good boy." Maxon ruffled Gerad's hair. If anyone else in the world had done this, Gerad would have huffed and hurried to correct the mess, but since it was Maxon, Gerad just smiled, deciding it looked better mussed up anyway.

"Gerad… You don't want to be a guard when you grow up, do you?" America asked, nervous at the thought.

"I don't know." Gerad shrugged. "Sometimes they let me run with them when they're outside training. It's really fun. I'd like a job that lets me run all the time, even though I'm a grownup."

"But it's so dangerous, Ger."

"Yeah, but Aspen always says that the best guards stop fights from happening before they start. It's like soccer, where you have to plan a strategy to keep the ball from getting close to your goalie. I wouldn't want to be the goalie, I'd want to be the guy keeping the danger from getting close." Gerad sniffed and wiped his nose on his sleeve, causing Silvia to heave a massive sigh, "Or, you know, I also might be a soccer player. I'm getting a lot better now that I get to practice all day."

The sidewalks of the street they were driving down became crowded with barricaded people waving the Illéan flag and cheering enthusiastically at the sight of the cars from the Palace.

"Keep touching between you to a minimum." Silvia reminded America and Maxon, "Remember, in the tabloids, loving gazes are worth ten gratuitous embraces."

America turned to Maxon with a smirk and mouthed 'gratuitous embraces?' to which Maxon simply shook his head, mystified. Silvia didn't notice this exchange because the car was slowing to a stop and they had arrived at the afternoon children's educational facility. They watched as guards in the black cars in front of and behind them emerged and moved to reinforce the security detail that was already there.

A moment later, Aspen came jogging up to their car and opened the back door. "All clear, your Majesties."

Silvia was the first out of the car, and she hurried off to find the facility administrator and run through the schedule with her. It was Silvia's job to keep them on time today, and she took that responsibility just a little too seriously.

Gerad was the next one out of the car, and at the sight of him, what sounded like a hoard of screaming young girls began shrieking. Gerad took it well, though, waving and smiling, posing for the pictures the paparazzi were taking and then moving to stand next to Aspen to wait for America to emerge.

Maxon was next, ducking out of the car and waving to the assembled crowd. America couldn't help but admire how young, athletic, healthy, handsome, and regal he looked as he straightened out his suit and turned back to the car to offer America his arm.

"Thank you, my dear." America said, winking at him as she took his arm and by the time she was out of the car and they'd turned to face the cameras, he was still laughing at that.

The intensity of the cheering and screaming almost made America take a step back. Luckily, she was permitted to hold Maxon's arm for a moment longer as they posed together outside of the car. The baby could hear all of the noise out, too, America was sure of it, because it began squirming inside of her again. She brushed a reassuring hand over the bump, knowing that was the best she could do.

Maxon leant in to her ear, "Three minutes of questions and then I'm starting this speech. I don't like being out here in the open like this."

"Three minutes." America nodded, and then she led Gerad to the right towards the line of children she was to greet, and Maxon pealed off to the left to address the paparazzi.

Gerad signed a few autograph books that girls his age were holding out, but he kept an eye on America the whole time. For her part, America was more than enthralled with the line of babies Gavril had set up for her. They sat on a plush red rug in front of the barricades so that they were easy to get to, and comfortable while they waited. Behind them, mothers and fathers stood, smiling and keeping a close eye on their young ones. America spotted one young mother who was on the other side of the barricade from a four year old girl who looked just like her. In the young mother's arms was another baby, too small to sit up on his or her own. America walked up to this woman. "Hello." America smiled.

"Your Majesty." The woman curtseyed as best she could in the crowd.

"Is this your daughter?" America asked, looking down at the three year old girl who sat, peering right back up at her, several flowers in her hands.

"She is, ma'am."

"She's about my niece's age." America smiled. She lowered herself so as to be at eye-level with the child, but she was careful to keep her knees off the ground. "What's your name?"

The girl looked up at her mother, then back to America, "Jonna." the girl finally said.

"Jonna?" The girl nodded. "It's nice to meet you, my name is Queen America." The girl nodded again. "You're wearing a very pretty dress today, Jonna. Where did you get it?"

"Mommy." the girl reported.

"Oh. Did your mommy sew it?" America chuckled.

"Yeah. She made it a twirly skirt." The girl said, looking at her mother again.

"A twirly skirt? That's wonderful." America grinned. "Is it a good twirly skirt?"

"Yeah, it's a good one."

"Would you show me?"

The girl checked with her mother again, who nodded with a smile. Jonna stood up, gathering some pink flowers she'd been holding into one hand, and then spinning twice in place so that the ruffled skirt of her blue dress flew around her knees. When she stopped spinning, she had a huge smile on her face.

"That's a wonderful twirly skirt." America smiled. "Is it any good at curtseying?"

"I don't know." Jonna puzzled.

"Here. Let's give it a try. This is how you curtsey." America showed the girl a shallow little curtsey, and the girl mimicked her, wobbling just a little. "Oh, that's a very good dress for curtseying."

"Yeah." Jonna agreed.

"Is that your baby brother or sister?" America asked, looking up at the baby in Jonna's mother's arms.

"That's my baby brother, he's new." she explained.

"Oh, yes. That's my baby brother, but he's not very new anymore." America pointed over at Gerad, who was busying himself with a different young child in Gavril's line of babies.

Jonna nodded, considering Gerad, and then she turned to America, "Mines name is Mikah, you can holds him if you're careful."

America smiled at this and then stood upright, with some degree of difficulty since her small but heavy belly was throwing off her balance so much. "Would you mind if I held him for a moment?" America asked Jonna's mother.

"No, not at all, your Majesty. It would be an honor." the woman smiled and carefully handed the baby over the barricade, and America adjusted the infant carefully in her arms. He yawned and blinked up at her with curious brown eyes, but otherwise he did not fuss. Jonna stood on tiptoe to see her brother in America's arms.

"Is he a good baby, Jonna?" America asked, happily studying the baby in her arms.

"Yeah, he's not bad." Jonna shrugged. "I wish he was a sister."

Across the way, Maxon was answering a question about how he was coping with his pre-fatherhood jitters when he caught America's eye. He hurriedly finished his answer and then crossed over to see her.

"Who do we have here?" Maxon asked, giving America one of those valuable, loving looks.

"This is Mikah, and his big sister Jonna."

"Why, hello, Lady Jonna." Maxon bowed to her, and Jonna mimicked America's curtsey again, bright grin on her face at being called 'Lady' by the King.

"Isn't he beautiful, Maxon?" America said, softly, entranced by the baby in her arms.

"Gorgeous." Maxon nodded, placing a hand on the small of her back and peering down. "But we need to head up to the platform now, it's time for the speech."

"Three minutes already?"

"Mhmm."

"One of these days, there won't be any rebels, and we'll be able to stay out here and hold babies all day long." America pouted as she returned Mikah to his mother.

Though the words were meant for Maxon, the woman nodded on hearing them, "We pray for that day, too, your Majesty."

"Thank you." America said, genuinely. "That's very nice to hear." Sometimes, in the chaos of K, it was easy to forget that only a very small fraction of the population wanted them dead, and everyone else liked having them around. Their approval ratings weren't just numbers that might lead to an amendment, they were a real representation of the overwhelming majority of people who support the monarchy.

Jonna held her fistful of flowers up to America, "These are for you."

"For me?"

Jonna's mother nodded, "She wanted to bring them for you. They're from the garden in our backyard. For the last two weeks, every time she's gone outside to water them, she's talked of nothing but bringing them for you."

"Oh, Jonna, thank you." America smiled, taking the flowers as the girl leant in to hug her around the hips. America leant over and hugged her back, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "I have to go now, but it was nice to meet you, Jonna."

Jonna just nodded and looked back and forth between Maxon and America before resuming her seat on the red carpeting. Maxon waved Gerad over and the three of them headed to the platform where Mrs. Lavender, the woman who ran the facility, and Mrs. Chamberson, who funded the facility, stood waiting.

Gavril hopped up onto the platform to give Maxon a brief introduction, but before stepping up to the microphone, he paused by America's ear and grinned, "I was hoping you'd find that baby."

"Good pictures?"

"The best!"

America smiled, shaking her head at Gavril as he abandoned her to embrace Mrs. Lavender and Mrs. Chamberson, before starting his introduction.

Maxon's speech was all about the importance of investing Illéa's resources in its children, heralding this learning center as an exemplary model for how to do the most good. These children would emerge into adulthood with skills ranging from social to artistic to academic that would serve them, their community, and their country for their entire lives. Skills they would pass on to their children and so on and so forth.

America's job during Maxon's speech was to stand there with the handful of flowers Jonna had given her, smile, and look prettily pregnant, reminding everyone of babies and hope and the bright future of Illéa. This was something she'd gotten very good at in the three years since she'd married Maxon, but she decided while standing up there that she should have Silvia schedule a few group events where America delivered the speeches and Maxon's job was to stand back, look pretty, hold flowers, and smile. In the interest of fairness.

When the short speech was over, the cameras clicked in a fury of flashbulbs and Maxon came back to share a few encouraging words with the women responsible for the facility.

Gavril stepped forward and called for his official royal photographers and the _Capital Report _video cameras to head into the facility and get set up, and for all others to return to their place behind the barricades, and the King and Queen would pose one more time on their way out. There were a few goodnatured grumbles from the camera men and women denied access to the event, but for the most part they were used to it.

It made America think of Elise's husband, Rolph Lemex, and his life's quest to free the press. If he had his way, would_ all_ of these cameras be following them into the learning center? The idea made her stomach flutter nervously. Oh, no, wait, that was the baby.

"Where's Rolph Lemex?" America asked Gavril as he stepped back to usher America and Maxon inside. "Shouldn't he be here covering this event for his news-paper?"

"One would think so." Gavril frowned, the suspicious disapproval of Rolph audible in his tone. "Last I heard, Mr. Lemex was headed down to the southern provinces to research an expository series on its troubled history."

"Troubled history?"

Gavril shrugged, "He's planning on telling stories of southern oppression, a different angle on the usual narrative of the southern rebels. It's part of how he's covering the King's cleanup initiative. The insinuation being that there's a lot more to clean up down there than the air and the soil."

"Is that true?"

Gavril shrugged, "We've had a difficult two centuries, your Majesty, we've all suffered. Personally, I prefer to offer tales of hope rather than desolation, but that's why I have my job and he has his." There was an underhanded insult in that. Gavril was the most well-respected journalist in Illéa, and undoubtedly charismatic, but that didn't make what Rolph did any less valuable. They were clearly performing two separate services. America was glad, as she walked into the facility with Maxon, that both sides of the story of Illéa were finally being told. If there was anything Gregory Illéa's kingdom needed, it was a less-scripted version of its own history.

The inside of the learning center was beautiful, the walls were painted clean, bright colors and covered with framed art, hand-made by the children who came here every weekday afternoon to play and to learn. Some of these children were Sixes, coming after school, some were Twos and Threes, coming from their tutoring. Some were Fours and Fives taking a break from homeschooling and allowing their parents the afternoon to complete work without children to mind. All were treated equally while they were here, and many were forging close inter-caste friendships.

There was a music room, an art room, a homework room, and a game room inside, as well as a large yard in the back with plenty of balls, jump ropes, and sidewalk chalk. America caught Gerad's eye as they finished the tour and she knew they were thinking the same thing. This place would have been paradise if they'd had it back in Carolina.

"You're just in time for snack, your Majesties." Mrs. Lavender explained. "That's where all of the children are gathered now, in the snack room. Would you care to join us?"

"We would love to." Maxon smiled, and they followed Mrs. Chamberson and Mrs. Lavender into the snack room.

Some sixty children between the ages of five and eighteen were seated around various tables, some of the furniture was small to accommodate the youngest children, and the rest was the usual size but brightly colored. Before them were plates full of carrot sticks, apple slices, crackers, and cheese, as well as small wax-paper cartons of milk.

Gerad immediately zeroed in on a likely looking group of boys about his age and asked if he could sit with them. America almost cried, hormones getting the better of her for a moment, when she thought of how rare it was for Gerad to get the opportunity to socialize with other boys his own age. For the first time since stepping out of the car at the learning center, Gerad wasn't scanning the crowd or keeping an eye on entrances and exits for possible intruders. He was just being a boy.

"Of course. Have fun, Ger." America smiled weakly, and Gerad took off, befriending the other ten-year-olds almost on sight.

Mrs. Lavender had another place for America and Maxon to sit. There was a round table with two empty seats and a diverse group of children waiting for them. This would be another one of Gavril's photo opportunities.

America and Maxon went to the window to get their plates, on the other side of which a small kitchen was visible. There was no stove, but plenty of refrigeration to keep the fruits and vegetables fresh. A cheerful woman about Magda's age, wearing a hairnet over her dark blond hair, handed both of them their plates with a tiny curtsey, not that America or Maxon could see anything other than her head bob down and up again.

Maxon was borderline boisterous, talking to all of the kids seated at the table with them, a far cry from the tormented man she'd been living with since K's last note. Getting out of the Palace agreed with this king. America let him do a lot of the talking because he was in such an unusually good mood, but she also stayed quiet because she was eating every last bit of the snack on her plate, and then mercilessly plundering Maxon's as well. He chuckled at her as she stole a third carrot stick from him, and then he kissed her cheek to the sound of much camera clicking. The more they adored each other, the more they were adored.

After snack, it was time for the true main event. Maxon was going to teach a photography class to the kids, and America couldn't have been more excited to watch him do it. She would be observing with the facility's usual caretakers as Maxon led the class and she had a feeling that even Gavril's professional royal photographers would learn a thing or two.

"I'm actually nervous, Ames." Maxon said, softly, as he and America watched the kids file into the art room ahead of them.

"Worse than strategizing battles for New Asia?"

"Worse."

"Worse than watching the announcement of your Selected live on television?"

"About on-par."

America smiled up at him. "You know, that worked out alright for you in the end."

"What if I make a fool of myself?"

"Then Gavril will refuse to release the footage and we'll tell the world that you were brilliant, and that will become the truth."

"Something like our first kiss? We'll be the only ones the wiser?"

"Exactly. Isn't that how history works in Illéa?" she teased him.

He nodded distractedly. "I could really use one of those gratuitous embraces Silvia was going on about earlier."

"Why not? The cameras are already in the classroom getting set up. There's no one to record us here." America smiled and then wrapped her arms around his neck. She leaned in close and whispered in his ear, "You'll be great at this, Maxon. They're not asking you to teach them military strategy. They just want you to share what you know about photography."

"Either way, we can eat chocolate cake tonight?" Maxon asked, hopefully, of the leftover slices of his birthday cake.

"I promise." America smiled.

"You'll still love me even if I'm a terrible teacher?"

"You won't be."

"How do you know?"

"Because you've taught me everything I know about being Queen."

"Silvia—" he argued.

"She taught me how to be royal. But _you _taught me how to be Queen."

Maxon smiled down at her, locking eyes with her and saying, "You must be my star-student, then, because you are an _excellent_ queen."

She kissed him once for luck and then let him go. "Come on, your Majesty. Those kids want you to teach them how to take a picture."

Maxon took a deep breath and followed her into the classroom.

He was, of course, a natural and had all of the students completely charmed within two seconds of his lesson. There was a cabinet in the back of the room with shelves of different kinds of cameras, and he had the kids break into groups of three so that they could split the cameras amongst them. The youngest children were placed in a group with some older ones so that they could be given extra help.

As America stood to the side with Mrs. Lavender and a few other women who worked for the learning center, she watched Maxon explain the differences between the cameras that the kids had, how to focus and un-focus, how to adjust the exposure, what the different lenses meant. Somehow, he kept the attention of the five year olds and the eighteen year olds at the same time. Even when he made a lame pun about the kids giving photography their best 'shot', they didn't mutiny against him. That ability to keep them all engaged was even more incredible than his knowledge of photography, and America smiled warmly as she thought of raising her family with this terrible-joke-making man.

Next, Maxon had the groups of kids, one of which Gerad had somehow managed to get himself ingratiated in so that he was learning as much as anyone else, go out to the backyard and find one subject each to photograph. He'd brought the camera America had given him for his birthday, the sleek little rectangle, and he was going to take a few pictures himself to demonstrate composition and lighting.

The kids bounded out to the backyard, eager and laughing, and the adults (including the photographers) followed subduedly behind. Maxon walked up to America once they were outside with a hopeful expression on his handsome face.

"You're doing an _amazing _job, Maxon." She promised him, and he laughed before taking off to check on Gerad and then find his photography subjects.

"It's really cute how much he values your opinion." one of the teachers next to her said. She was a young woman, maybe a few years older than America, with bright blond hair and carefully stained red lips.

"I know." America smiled, watching her husband bound around the yard.

"I mean, you'd think that being the King would make him 'above it all', but he doesn't seem that way."

"He's not. He's incredibly sweet and grounded." America said.

"I wish we'd known more about him before his Selection." A pleasantly plump brunette woman with an impressively large bosom added. She was another caretaker for the learning center, and this one was younger than the blonde.

"Oh, I know." The blonde woman said. "I didn't even enter. I thought he was so stiff and boring."

"So did I." America chuckled.

The women laughed and the brunette said, "You should let the people get to know your son, once it's time for his Selection."

"She might be having a daughter." The blonde woman reminded her.

"Oh, I know. I just meant eventually, when she does have a son." The brunette smiled sweetly.

"I would have thought the same thing," America mused, "But I think I understand it now that I live in the Palace. The people of this country ask a lot of us as leaders and as celebrities, and it can be difficult to stay grounded and sane in the whirlwind of it all. I understand wanting to protect Maxon from that as much as possible when he was young. King Clarkson and Queen Amberly were very selective about his interaction with the media before he came of age. Sometimes I feel like locking this one away and never letting it out. Boarding up the doors and shuttering the windows." America's hand drifted over her stomach, and then she smiled, "But their way was probably wiser."

The women laughed, and they returned their gazes to the groups of children laughing, yelling, and taking pictures.

A little bit away from them, one of the groups of three children began having a vocal disagreement. There was a ten year old girl with blonde hair animatedly gesturing, speaking rapidly, and the other two girls in that group folded their arms across their chests and frowned. Finally, one of the other girls, maybe twelve years old with black hair tied down her back in a long braid, shouted loudly enough so that America could hear it clearly, "Stop being so bossy, Alyss!"

"Oh, no." sighed the blonde caretaker. "Of course. I should have known this would be too much for Alyss."

"What's wrong with her?" America asked, watching the girls try to solve the heated dilemma amongst themselves.

The brunette shook her head, "She can be a bit of a drama queen, a little attention-seeking, if you know what I mean."

America had no ungodly idea what this woman meant.

"She's just very bossy, any time she's in a group." The blonde woman shook her head. "Alyss!" She yelled. "Reighlee, Tasha, come here!" The girls dashed over to their caretaker, sparing a nervous glance at America, but mostly their little faces remained incensed. Alyss clutched the camera possessively in her hand.

"Alyss, what's the problem?" The blonde woman asked.

"I had an idea, if all of our pictures were the same thing, but different, like, different looks, depending on what our favorite part of it was. Like if we did the tree—"

"I don't wanna do the tree!" the brown haired girl in the group huffed.

"I know, we don't have to, it's just an example, Tasha!" Alyss said, exasperated.

"Each of you is to take one photograph to show the King." the blonde woman scolded Alyss. "You can't force the other girls in your group to take pictures they don't want to take."

"I'm not!" Alyss was almost to the point of tears. "They didn't know what they wanted to do anyway! I was just telling them my idea, but they wouldn't let me finish!"

"That's enough. If you weren't so bossy, they might have listened to your idea. You'll take your picture last, hand the camera over."

"But—"

"No 'but's, young lady." The blonde woman scolded. The black haired girl ripped the camera from Alyss' hands as a tear fell down the poor girl's face.

America had to pick her jaw up off the ground. Alyss hung back, watching the others run off to pick something to photograph, trying to recover some pride before rejoining them. America walked up to her and tapped her on the shoulder, making sure they were within earshot of the caretakers who'd disparaged her behind her back and to her face. "Alyss?"

"Yes?" Alyss asked, before turning back to see America. "Oh!"

"Are you alright?"

"Yes." Alyss nodded. "I'm sorry."

"You don't need to apologize. I think King Maxon would have really liked your idea. Different points-of-view on the same subject? I'll bet you three girls are from different castes, too, that really would have interested him."

"Yeah, I'm a Four." she confessed with a frown. "They're both Threes."

America sighed and bent down to be eye level with the girl. "They just didn't understand your idea."

"The kids here are always like that."

"It helps to be kind, and to value their ideas, too. They want to feel like they've contributed to the group."

"I didn't mean to be unkind." Alyss frowned.

"Maybe you weren't, but it might have seemed that way to them. I used to get called 'bossy' a lot, too."

"Really?"

"Mhmm. I was homeschooled, so I didn't see very many kids my age or older. I was used to playing with my little brother and sister, and I'd always be the leader and make the rules for our games."

"I'm a big sister, too." Alyss grinned.

America smiled, "So you know what I mean?"

"Yeah."

"Any time I was in a group with kids my age or older than me, I'd get called 'bossy' by them or by their parents. It was very frustrating. I never felt 'bossy', and I wasn't trying to be mean."

"Yeah." The girl sniffed and wiped her cheeks with the back of her hands.

"But in time, I learned to be kind and thoughtful when I proposed my ideas, and to listen to all of their ideas. Most of the time they'd pick mine, but sometimes they wouldn't. I had to learn how to accept that."

"Hmm." The girl frowned, clearly thinking that would be a challenge.

"And _now_," America said, as if letting her in on a big dramatic secret, "All of those kids and grown ups who called me 'bossy' don't call me 'bossy' anymore. Do you know what they call me now?"

"What?" Alyss asked, wide-eyed.

"The Queen." America smiled.

"Wow." Alyssa grinned.

"What do you want to be when you grow up?"

"I don't know. My dad has a jewelry shop, if my brother doesn't want it, I might take it over."

"What if you could be any caste in the world? Then what would you do?"

"I'd be a magistrate and make really fair punishments with my judgements." She seemed to glare at the caretakers listening in on their conversation as she said this. "But I can't, I'm a girl." she sighed.

"Well. You keep working on being a kind, fair, attentive leader and I'll work on getting girls a few more rights around here. By the time you're a grown up, the magistrates might just be ready for you."

All the tears were gone without a single trace as Alyss beamed at this. She ran off to join the others in her group, and America clearly heard her kindly admiring the black-haired girl's picture of a stick.

"What was that about?" Maxon asked, snapping a picture of America as he approached.

America sighed, "A culture that verbally polices women's ambitions in order to keep them docile and subservient."

"Um…" he was confused as he offered her his arm.

"Nothing." America amended with a smile and he nodded. "But we should let women serve as magistrates." she said as they began to walk.

"Why?"

"_Why_?" she raised her eyebrows.

"Oh, no, um, of course." he hurriedly added. "Women should be able to do anything they want to do."

America laughed at him. "You're cute, Maxon."

"So you're not canceling our chocolate cake date?"

"I'd never cancel chocolate cake!" America insisted, aghast.

Maxon smiled but he studied her face a bit longer. "You're still troubled."

"No. Well… just thinking… we might still have a long way to go before the people are ready to accept a woman as their boss and queen."

"We were going to start working on that in the last trimester." Maxon reminded her.

"I don't know if we can wait that long. We should get Gavril to start a media blitz to sway that opinion now. If we get the right, fashionable people talking about it, then when we announce the amendment, it'll be almost like the people thought of it themselves. And we'll just be giving them what they want. "

"We'll talk to Gavril at the next strategy meeting." Maxon nodded.

America hoped they weren't already too late. The truth was, if they couldn't find some way to convince the people of Illéa that a woman asserting her authority wasn't 'bossy', repulsive behavior, then their amendment to the laws of inheritance was dead in the water.


	37. Chapter 37

"Maxon?" America whimpered, leaning over in bed, looking for her husband. It was well after midnight, and pitch-black in Maxon's bedroom, but America squinted and managed to make out that Maxon was fast asleep, sprawled on his stomach, mouth hanging wide open, with the most adorable little snores coming out of his nose. "Maxon…" she sniffled again.

This time he awoke. "What is it?" he whispered, consciousness returning to him slowly. He blinked a few times and then found her face next to his. "What's wrong? Is it another headache?"

"No." a tear fell down America's cheek. Maxon sat up and turned on the lamp by his bed, then turned back to his wife. He was alarmed but not surprised to find her in tears.

"What's the matter, Ames? Talk to me."

"I want… I want a… I want a gr-grilled cheese." She sobbed.

Maxon did his best not to smile too big at her misery. "That's all?"

"Lots of cheese, I need a lot of cheese, all different kinds, Maxon." America ran a shaky hand through her hair and sat up with a bit of a struggle.

"And butter on the toast?" he asked.

"Yeah." she sniffed and he handed her a tissue from the box on his bedside table. She blew loudly into it.

"Anything else?"

"Milk." she cried.

"Sweetheart, why are you crying about this?"

"I don't know!" she snapped, defensively. "I just am!"

"Okay." Maxon said, sympathetically. "You're not feeling so good right now are you?"

"I'm fine!" she insisted through a fresh sob.

This time Maxon did chuckle. "Want to come with me and watch me make your sandwich? You can sip on some milk while you wait."

America considered that the very thought of Maxon leaving her side right now made her want to howl with more tears, and she didn't want to alarm Officer Avery, who had the post outside of their door that night. "Okay."

The guards, night maids, and overnight kitchen staff were well-used to seeing their sovereigns up at all hours and in search of food by now. For a while they'd protested, at least amongst themselves, but after seeing America and Maxon's interview on the _Report_ and learning about why the King had to be the one to bring the Queen her cravings, most of the staff seemed to find it all incredibly sweet and romantic and would smile softly as Maxon passed by. This time, the smiles were directed at both the King and the Queen as the monarchs walked down, hand-in-hand.

The main kitchen in the Palace was an enormous, open space, with massive stovetops and metallic countertops, meticulously cleaned and organized so that pots and pans hung in attractive, but practical orientations and knives sat in their wooden blocks, well-sharpened and ready to go. Maxon turned on an overhead light, then another, and they both blinked on with a hum.

There was no refrigeration in the main kitchen. The chef would send kitchen boys to fetch what needed fetching from several rooms over, where the cold and frozen items were kept in a chilled, walk-in chamber. Because of this, Maxon had to go and fetch the cheese and milk.

"Sit here." Maxon said, lifting America up by the hips and setting her down on the cool, metallic countertop next to a large stovetop containing a dozen burners, "And tell me what kind of cheese you want." he left his hands on her hips, and brushed the joints with his thumbs soothingly.

America hiccoughed, her crying subsided now so that she was mostly just red-eyes and tearstained cheeks. "All kinds." she said, softly.

"Every kind of cheese?"

"All of them." she nodded, the corners of her lips twitching but stopping short of smiling.

"That might be a little much for your sandwich. The bread would cave under that kind of pressure. How about you let me pick?" America nodded and sniffled and Maxon smiled at her. They were at perfect eye-level with each other since she was up on the countertop, so he leant in and kissed her with ease, then leant down to rest his head on her stomach. "Don't worry, little baby." Maxon cooed. "Your sandwich is coming." Then he pressed his lips to the lump and left for the refrigerated chamber.

When America first started sending Maxon to the kitchens, he was at a loss for everything. He didn't know one pantry from the other, where to find any kind of utensil, or even how to turn on the oven. Now, he was a pro. It took him less than a minute to return with an arm full of three blocks of assorted cheeses and a frosty glass jug of milk.

"The milk is already freezing cold, so I didn't bring any ice." Maxon announced, dropping off the cheese on the countertop next to America and then crossing over to fetch a glass from the cabinets where the royal dishware was kept.

"That's okay." America said, watching him go. They'd both put on robes before leaving Maxon's bedroom, but there was a 'v' of bare chest still visible despite Maxon's robe that caught America's attention and kept it as he poured two glasses of pearly white milk and brought them over to her.

"Cheers." he said, clinking the glasses together once he'd handed hers to her, and they each took a long drink. "Feeling better?"

"Mhmm." she nodded, thoughtfully.

"Good."

Maxon knew exactly where the cheese graters were kept from all of the other cheese sandwiches he'd made her, usually including sliced pickles, tomatoes, or cucumbers. This time, however, America was just having a good, old-fashioned calcium craving.

While he heated up a skillet with a thick dollop of butter melting on it, he sliced a loaf of rich brown bread he found in the bread box. He coated each slice with more of the soft, creamy butter and then piled one of them high with the mound of white and orange cheeses he'd just shredded, before capping it off with the other slice of bread. While that sandwich sat on the hot skillet, he piled the dishes he'd dirtied up in the sink. One time he'd tried to wash them himself and nearly started a kitchen revolt at the thought of the King washing dishes, so from then on the staff made him swear that he'd leave the washing up to them.

When the sandwich was ready, he dropped it onto a plate and handed it to America. He watched her carefully as she took a bite.

"Is it like the one in your dream?" he asked.

"My dream?"

"The dream that woke you up?" he knew her well. She'd been woken up from a deep sleep by this cheese craving, dreaming of a grilled cheese sandwich and waking to find herself hungry, empty, and cheese-less.

"It's better." America said, holding the sandwich out to him so he could take a bite.

He did, and mmm'd as he wiped the crumbs from his lips and chewed. "I missed my calling as a master chef." Maxon said.

"It's not too late." America suggested, and he laughed. While she kept munching, he returned the blocks of cheese and jug of milk, and when he got back, he positioned himself between her knees and studied her face.

"Why do they make you cry, Ames?" he asked.

"The cravings?"

"Yes."

She chewed her latest bite as she considered it. "I don't know. They don't always make me cry. Usually only when they wake me up."

"Is it just hormones?"

America shrugged. "Probably." she took two more bites in silence, and then held it up for him to take the last bite. He shook his head, so she finished it off. While she chewed, she stared at her glass of milk rather than Maxon's penetrating brown eyes, and once she'd swallowed, she wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned forward onto his shoulder to avoid his gaze. She was already exhausted again and ready to return to bed. She yawned.

Maxon would have kissed her lips, but her hair was all that he could get to, so he settled. "Want to take your milk with us?"

"Okay." she sighed. She sat up and let him place her plate in the sink and finish his glass of milk before it, too was added to the rest of the dishes. She watched him the whole time, wringing her hands in her lap, and finally she said, bravely, "I only cry when I _wake up _hungry."

Maxon blinked and turned back to her. "Right." he studied her closely.

"I think, for that moment between sleeping and waking…I forget that I'm here."

"Here?"

"I forget that I'm in the Palace and that I'm the Queen. For a second, I'm still a Five in Carolina and…" she didn't want to finish. She'd mentioned hunger to him once and he'd started a revolutionary governmental initiative to combat it. She'd told him she'd been hungry and he didn't just feed her, he fed the world.

_She_ didn't finish her thought, but Maxon did. "You forget that there's food for you. Is that it?" he asked, his face carefully guarded. "In between sleeping and waking you think that you and the baby are going to spend a long day hungry?"

America nodded. "I think so. When I wake up hungry and craving something, I also wake up anxious and fearful and shaky. I think that's why I start crying, even though by the time I'm fully-awake, I know better. And, well… the hormones don't help." she shrugged.

Maxon nodded, frowning. He crossed back over to her and offered her a hand down as she slid off of the countertop. He did not release her hand, and she looked up at him to find a maelstrom in his brown eyes. When he noticed her peeking up at him, all he said was, "My father let that happen to you. And to millions of others like you."

"It's all different now." America reminded him, squeezing his hand softly. "You've changed everything."

He handed her the half-finished glass of milk and they began walking back upstairs. "I'm going to have a word with Dr. Ashlar tomorrow. Find out which foods to arrange for you to have as a bedtime snack."

America blinked, taking that in. "So I won't wake up hungry anymore?"

"Exactly. The cravings might wake you, but you won't wake hungry. Hopefully that will make a difference."

America stopped and tugged his arm to stop him, too, before pulling him down into a long kiss. The kind of kiss that took the edge off of his worry about her. The moment they made it back to bed, they fell asleep tucked away in each other's arms.

* * *

America had Esther bring her breakfast that morning. Maxon was long gone when she woke up, off to a domestic issues briefing with Stavros and a few other key junior advisers. If she'd been feeling social, she'd have gone down and had breakfast in the dining room with whichever of her family members was awake and hungry, but she was relishing the silence this morning.

She stayed in her night dress and ate, sitting on Maxon's couch, her feet tucked up under her, reading through a stack of magazines to see what the upper castes were concerning themselves with at the moment. If these magazines were to be trusted, it was 1. a new line of dresses by a famous designer, 2. how adorable the one-year-old prince of England was, 3. How everyone is feeling about pink this season. For or against? and 4. The King and Queen's outing to the learning center last weekend.

At least it was widely considered a success, America supposed tossing aside the third magazine of the morning and taking a few bites of sweet oatmeal. She felt another headache coming on, quickly. Determined not to let it get the best of her, she stood and called for Esther, who was dusting in America's room.

"Your Majesty?" Esther asked, appearing in Maxon's doorway.

"I need you to go to Gavril Fadaye's office and bring me the latest issue of Rolph Lemex's newspaper. He's going to splutter and act like he doesn't have it, but he definitely does, and I want to read it."

"Yes, your Majesty." Esther curtsied.

While she waited, America finished her breakfast and massaged her temples, taking careful breaths, trying to dispel the oncoming headache. It helped a little.

Esther returned with the rectangular mass of papers, all folded in on themselves once so as to be a manageable size to carry around. "Thank you." America said, taking the papers covered in small, grey print from Esther's hands. Esther curtsied and went back to America's room.

_**EMBATTLED MAGISTRATE FROM KENT SET TO RESIGN IN SCANDAL**_

Enormous print was splashed across the front page, along with a grainy, low-quality version of a photograph of the magistrate in question. America checked the price on the top right corner of the paper. 2.50. Not nothing, but nothing compared to the 15.00 that the magazines America had been flipping through cost.

Below the story of the magistrate, there was a piece on the destruction wrought on Paloma by a particularly nasty summer storm. Apparently, many residences had been destroyed, as well as basic infrastructure, and of course, the lower-castes were suffering most in the devastation. America frowned, headache worsening. She felt like she was learning more from this paper than she did attending Maxon's adviser meetings, though now she had no doubt what her husband's domestic issues briefing had been about.

At the bottom of the page was a large, bold title: _**STORIES FROM THE SOUTH**_

followed by a quick editorial explanation that this was another in a series that the paper's founder, Rolph Lemex, was writing based on his findings in Honduragua, where he was staying in honor of Maxon's heritage through Amberly.

_Thanks to King Maxon's Southern Cleanup initiative, we have all now learned of the plight of the southern provinces. Countless Ill__é__an citizens suffered horrendously at the policies imposed upon them by the Ill__é__as and perpetuated by the Schreaves until Lady Amberly wed Prince Clarkson and brought Maxon, our half-northern and half-southern King, into the world. King Maxon's initiative takes great leaps in progressing the cause of the south, but for many, it is generations too late._

_Last week, I profiled a young family ripped apart by illness, poverty, and oppression. The south is rife with such stories, all I had to do was point at a derelict farm house visible in the distance from the home of the family who is sheltering me, and I was told the heartbreaking tale of the former owners. A father stricken ill, dead before the age of thirty. A mother gravely injured working the fields after they were no longer able to pay the Sixes in their employ. A ten-year-old girl left orphaned upon that mother's death, sent off to live with her distant, un-met cousin in the province of Angeles because it was a kinder fate than allowing her to become an Eight, as most orphans were at the time. This was ten years ago, according the family hosting me. King Maxon's policies have changed things for the orphans of Ill__é__a__._

_This week, I would like to profile a different tragedy. When children outlive their parents, it is a sorrow. But when parents outlive their children, it is an unspeakable horror, a crime against nature and reason._

_Jefferson Kervin Potter is something of a legend here in Honduragua, Everyone down here has lost someone but few have suffered on the grand and nearly operatic scale of__ Jefferson Potter._

_I was able to do a little digging and find a couple who knew the Potters almost two decades ago, though they asked to remain anonymous in this article. The man, Mr. X, was a patron and friend of Mr. Potter, who was a sculptor by trade. Mr. Potter__'__s wife was a singer, and together they had two children. A thirteen year old daughter and a ten year old son. Mr. Potter and his wife were eagerly expecting their third child, but Mrs. Potter took ill. It was a long pregnancy that resulted both in a stillborn baby and the death of Mrs. Potter. Although tragic, this was not uncommon at the time. We now know that the toxins in the water, and in the soil which feeds all of Ill__é__a__'__s southern citizens, has a tendency to build up in bloodstreams, especially plaguing the elderly, the very young, or expectant mothers. King Maxon has made medication easily available to combat such atrocious symptoms now._

_The loss of Jefferson Potter__'__s wife and baby would have been considered standard, but more than enough tragedy to keep him occupied for the rest of his life. Unfortunately for Mr. Potter, this was where his story transcended into the realm of legend. Three years after the untimely death of his wife, Mr. Potter was returning home from an errand in town. His sixteen year old daughter and thirteen year old son were home alone, working on their respective art forms. _

_This is where the story enters the realm of hearsay. Though Mr. and Mrs. X claim to be witnesses to the events, there is no hard evidence to support their claims, and they might have mis-seen, misunderstood, or misremembered what occurred. _

_When Mr. Potter returned to his home, he found three men that Mr. and Mrs. X both agree were soldiers in the Ill__é__an army, standing outside with a sheet of paper and a demand to search his property. There is no way to be certain if these men were, in fact, soldiers, or if there was any such paper._

_Mr. Potter, according to Mr. and Mrs. X, refused to show the soldiers inside until the search warrant was endorsed with the proper seal of a Magistrate of Honduragua. The soldiers, according to Mrs. X, seemed slightly drunk. _

_They had Mr. Potter bring his children out into the front yard, and they proceeded to burn Mr. Potter__'__s house to the ground, one of the men even allegedly urinating into the flames, loudly proclaiming that the __'__rebel documents__' __would all be destroyed now, anyway. _

_Mr. Potter then tried to summon local authorities, but none responded to his call._

_It is unclear what happened next, not all of it was visible from where the X__'__s were hiding in their house, looking on in horror. What is definite is that the 13 year old boy and 16 year old girl were both killed, their bodies tossed onto the flames of their burning home for disposal, and Jefferson Potter was left alive to tell the tale, as a warning to other rebels. _

_Jefferson Potter__'__s story is now considered to be largely a cautionary legend, the kind of myth that keeps children from misbehaving. Mr. Potter left Honduragua after the incident, devastated and far too haunted by the memories to remain living in the same place where he__'__d carefully built his life and then watched as it all burned down. _

_Even if the tale of Jefferson Potter is an elaboration, it underscores the mentality of the citizens of the south. Even if the men who burned the Potter__'__s house down, leaving nothing but a slab of scorched foundation I was able to visit whilst interviewing the X__'__s, were not truly the Ill__é__an soldiers of the legend, there are plenty of verified accounts of Ill__é__an soldiers from far off provinces taking ruthless advantage of their position and authority to pillage and plunder as they see fit in the south. There is a distinct lack of trust within the southern provinces for the north, and that is going to require much more than a clean-air initiative to rectify. _

_I__'__ll be back next week with another installment, another glimpse at life within our own country, but so different from anything we__'__ve been told before. _

America blinked, numbness in her chest and aching pain in her head. She was about to call for Esther to summon Maxon, but Maxon appeared of his own accord, a spring in his step. He was always in a good mood when his meetings adjourned early.

Before he could greet her or tell her she looked lovely, she handed him the article and said, "Read this."

She ate an orange and studied him closely, watching his face reflect all of the horror she felt as he read the article. Finally, he got to the horrific end and looked up at her, "Rolph Lemex wrote this?" he asked.

"Yes. Did you know about…" What was she trying to ask? "Did you know that was happening? Burning people's houses down and murdering children?"

"I know it did happen. Father was very lax when it came to the way his soldiers dealt with alleged rebels."

"_Alleged_, though, Maxon. This Potter man might not have been a rebel at all."

Maxon shrugged, "I've never heard this particular story before, I don't know what really happened."

"I had no idea it was so bad, Maxon. I didn't realize the rebels had…"

"Had what?" he asked, eyes narrowing.

"Legitimate grievances. The kind we can't erase by planting trees and shipping a few crates of bottled water to the south."

"It is going to take time to heal these wounds." Maxon sighed, furrowing his brow. "I… I'm doing everything I can, but I've only been King for three years, Ames."

"I know that." she frowned. "I just…" she shook her head. "I didn't realize it was that bad, that's all."

Maxon nodded. "I'm aware of the problem. The policy is already changed. We have a different way of dealing with rebels now, August was a big part of that."

America nodded and then pinched the bridge of her nose, sighing deeply. "We should talk to Rolph Lemex when he gets back from Honduragua. I'd like to hear these stories directly from him. Maybe he'll have some ideas for how to make things better."

Maxon nodded, but he was peering at her closely. "Another headache, Ames?" he was audibly worried.

"Yeah. It's bad this time." she sighed. He knelt down and massaged her temples for a minute, which she greatly appreciated, and her moans of pleasure made that clear to him.

"Let's go see Dr. Ashlar." Maxon suggested. "He's in the hospital wing for the day, we won't even have to wake him up this time. I need to make sure you and the baby are alright."

America agreed, not because she was worried about the baby, but because Dr. Ashlar might have a medication or trick to making these headaches finally stop. They'd been creeping up on her for a few weeks now, but they'd only gotten really bad in the last few days.

Mary was the one who answered America's call, and Maxon followed them silently into America's room, watchful as his wife dressed for the day. When Mary slipped America's navy blue maternity dress over her head, a funny little smile quieted the maid's face.

"What?" America asked, tugging on the dress where it was snug around her middle.

"You're bigger than you were last week, your Majesty." Mary said, happily. "Noticeably."

America peered at her reflection in the mirror of her vanity, eyebrows raising in surprise. Somewhere along the way, her little belly had ceased to be a little belly, and had grown into a full-blown pregnant belly. She still had a little more than four months to go, but her stomach was definitely not the sleek, compact baby bump it had been for weeks now. America's eyes flew to Maxon's to see if he saw it, too. He wore a massive smile on his face, studying her profile.

"None of your dresses will fit you correctly until we have time to let them out." Mary smirked. "We didn't think you'd grow so fast." There was teasing in that last sentence.

"Calm down." America laughed. "I probably just had another 'pop' night. I won't grow this much every week, I'm not having triplets."

"We'll see, ma'am. For today, let's dress you in your maternity pants and one of your looser blouses." Mary said, returning to America's closet. "Also, I took it upon myself to write to Lucy."

"Really?" America asked. "Why?"

There was some rustling in the closet and then Mary reappeared. "I wanted to ask her about a band of fabric she'd mentioned to me, a support band she wore when she was pregnant with Meri. Those painful spasms you've been focused on preventing-"

"With some success." America said. "They've been much better lately."

"According to the books, this band will help support that ligament which will help with the pains."

"Oh." America said, surprised that Mary was being so proactive, not that she should have been. Mary, Lucy, and Anne were always like that.

"Lucy sent me one of her bands and I've got an order in on the fabric to replicate it. I'll have a few ready by the week's end, and you should start wearing them daily now that you're growing so quickly, ma'am."

"Of course, Mary, thank you. You... Well, I've told you a million times, but you're amazing."

"I never tire of hearing it." Mary winked, removing the dress and handing America's new outfit to her.

Maxon sighed contentedly from where he sat on the edge of her bed, eyeing her re-exposed stomach. "That's a good-looking belly, Ames." He admired.

"Thanks, couldn't have done it without you." America joked.

* * *

Dr. Ashlar listened with kind concern and asked a few pertinent questions as America described the frequent headaches she'd been suffering with. He'd treated Amberly's headaches for years, and seemed to know exactly what he was doing.

Maxon was grim-faced and expecting the doctor to hand his wife a bottle of the same pills his mother had taken for all of his life, but when it came time for Dr. Ashlar to hand down a prescription, Dr. Ashlar instead smiled kindly and told America to drink plenty of water, focus on breathing properly now that deep breaths were becoming impossible, and then he handed her a pair of reading glasses.

"Glasses?" America asked, blinking her blue eyes up at the doctor. "I've never needed glasses."

"Give them a try for me. Wear them only when you read, but every time you read. Give it a week and if you're not feeling better, let me know and we'll run some tests."

Maxon took the glasses from America's hands and then perched them on her nose, amused. "What do you think, Ames?"

"I think that I don't need them." America announced.

Dr. Ashlar nodded understandingly, "When women come to me at this stage of pregnancy with headaches, I associate it with subtle changes in vision caused by hormonal shifts." he explained. "And I'm nearly always right."

"…The baby made my vision change?" America blinked, stunned.

"There is no part of your body that the baby has not altered, your Majesty." Dr. Ashlar gave her sympathetic pat on the back.

She shook her head, overwhelmed by that thought. "Is it possible to feel stir-crazy in your own skin?"

"Very, particularly during pregnancy. Just remember to drink plenty of water and focus on proper breathing." Dr. Ashlar smiled. "You've still got seventeen weeks to go."

It was Maxon's turn to react. "Seventeen Monday morning security briefings from now, I'll be a father?"

"Give or take." Dr. Ashlar nodded. This pleased Maxon to no end.

It took some getting used to, but America was diligent about wearing the glasses when she was reading, and the headaches all but ceased, immediately.

"How did you put up with this?" America asked Marlee that Friday evening, as they wrapped up a meeting and America glared at the spectacles in her hand.

"I didn't, my vision was fine." Marlee shrugged.

"Really?" America asked, scandalized.

"Yeah. Kile was a very easy pregnancy, but a rowdy baby once he was born. I swear he didn't sleep for a month." she looked weary just thinking about it.

America sighed, "Well, hopefully this baby will be the easiest kid in the world, after the pregnancy I've had to put up with."

"The second half flies by." Marlee promised her, patting her arm sympathetically. "The first half is all joy and telling everyone and getting used to the idea, like a slow build-up of excitement, but the second half is a mad dash to the finish line, full of preparations. The nursery, birthing classes, stockpiling diapers and bottles and baby clothes… You'll look up in no time to find that your water is broken and the contractions have started, I promise."

America sighed and nodded. "Let's call it a night."

"Sounds good." Marlee stood and then offered America both of her hands to help her stand, too. "I think we're going to see Carter's family this weekend."

"That'll be nice." America said.

"Yeah, it really will be." Marlee smiled. "They adore Kile, it's always hands-free parenting when we go visit them, because they happily take over. Carter and I get a lot of time to ourselves."

America smiled at the thought, wrapping an arm around Marlee's as they headed down the hall. "Is it strange that I have five different tiaras and three different crowns, but I just got a little jealous of you?"

"No." Marlee giggled. "You and Maxon won't ever get to take your baby to his parent's house and spend the weekend wrapped up in each other's arms, watching them dote on your little one."

"For reasons not the first of which being, I would never let Clarkson within ten feet of this baby." America nodded.

"But that doesn't mean you and Maxon shouldn't take weekends for yourselves every now and then." Marlee said in a stern tone, giving America a pointed look. "The two of you aren't very good at relaxing."

"I know."

"I'm serious. I don't want to have to raise your baby for you because you both dropped dead of stress-induced heart attacks at the age of thirty. You should take a vacation before the baby comes. It would do Maxon a lot of good to get out of this cage and see that K isn't in all places at all times."

"We've talked about it." America shrugged. "We'll see. I'll bring it up again at dinner tonight."

"Special plans?" Marlee asked, grinning as they paused. They were at the stairs she'd be going down to join her family in their rooms.

"Just dinner out in the gardens. Enjoying the warm evenings before the fall officially starts."

"Sounds nice. Have fun."

"See you Monday." America hugged her, and they headed off in different directions. It was moments like these that really highlighted for America that, if she'd chosen Aspen, she'd be headed down those stairs with Marlee right now. They'd be neighbors, both married to prominent palace guards. Marlee's was the life America could have chosen to have. But then where would Maxon be? And with whom?

Maxon was waiting for her in the gardens when she walked out into the warm summer breeze. There was a table set up in front of their bench with dinner all ready for them, lit by three candles casting a beautiful glow on the whole thing. But Maxon was pacing back and forth, worrying over a piece of paper in his hands, shattering the calm illusion cast by the candles.

She studied him for a moment, watching his posture and getting a feel for his mood. Everything about him radiated that he had bad news to share.

She was going to Atlin.

It was the only explanation. He'd brought her here, not to spend a free evening with her out under the stars, but to put her in a good mood before he wrecked the next four months of their lives. She'd promised that she'd go if that was the decision he made, but it didn't make this moment any easier. Maybe she could still change his mind?

"Maxon?" she tried to keep her voice steady, but she heard a little tremor in it. Maybe she was standing too far away for him to have noticed?

He stopped in his tracks and looked up at her, pasting a smile on his face in a forced expression. The stopping, looking up, and smiling was probably supposed to have all happened at once, but he was so distracted and worried, it had manifested in steps.

"You look beautiful." he said, his eyes raking over her. This was it. He was memorizing the way she looked because he wasn't going to be seeing her until she came back to Angeles to give birth to his heir.

"Thank you." she choked out. "...What's in your hand?" she asked, motioning half-heartedly to the paper he was clutching. Maybe it was a rebel update, maybe they were getting close to Angeles again and he didn't want her around if they attacked. Maybe it was just his official order to send her off. The one he'd have to file with Stavros, for the record.

"We... _you_ need to eat, America." he said, tucking the paper into his inside breast pocket, out of sight.

"You won't tell me what's going on?"

"I will. Over dinner. I need to explain and you need to eat."

Ah. He was going to go through his reasoning for sending her away in great detail. Maybe it would help. Probably not. He pulled out a chair for her and she walked slowly over, then sank into it numbly. What would she pack? She couldn't take Mary, Mary was in charge of all of the maids in the Palace. Who would make her clothes when she got so big that none of hers fit anymore? Who would dry her tears and make grilled cheese sandwiches for her in the middle of the night?

She took a mechanical bite of the chicken breast on her plate. It was slightly yellow, with green sprinkled atop it. Some kind of lemon chicken, probably with rosemary. She couldn't taste it. She could see the juices oozing out where she'd cut the tender meat with her fork, but it was like paper in her mouth.

Maxon took a bite of his own food, swallowed heavily and then took a long drink of water from his cloudy glass. There was condensation below the water line. His glass was crying.

"Do you remember the morning of my birthday?"

His birthday. The attack that led to her first hearing that hated word 'Atlin'. "Yes." she said, her voice came out sounding hollow.

"We were lying in my bed before the day even started... we talked about going to Carolina." he said, his eyes distant, his mind retreating to that simpler time before. Before K's second note. Before Atlin was a factor in their relationship.

America sipped the water in her glass to soothe her cotton-dry mouth. She felt an ache in her chest and a solid thump in her stomach.

Maxon continued, "I know we talked about going there before the baby is born... To Carolina, I mean."

But they couldn't. Because he was sending her to Atlin.

_Thump_

"We didn't talk about it again, we've been taking care of other... other business... not business, but-" Maxon stammered.

_Thump_

America blinked, realizing what was happening. "Maxon?" her voice was raspy, her throat tense.

"Listen, Ames, I know you're under a lot of pressure right now, and I don't want to make it worse-"

_Thump_

"_Maxon_-"

"Hold on, I just want-"

"Maxon, the baby is kicking." America gasped out.

Maxon's fork hit the plate with a loud clanking sound. "It is?" his chocolate brown eyes widened in surprise.

"Come here." she waved him over and, in a heartbeat, he fell to his knees before her. She grabbed his hand and placed it on the spot she'd last felt a thump and they waited. It took a moment, Maxon muttering coaxing words under his breath to the baby. Finally, it responded to him and rewarded him with a solid thump. He laughed in surprise, and America laughed, too, in spite of herself.

She kept one hand over the one he had planted on her belly and brushed his cheek with her other. "Maxon, please don't send me to Atlin." She whispered. She'd tried to speak it clearly, but all that came out was a whisper.

When his eyes lifted from her stomach to meet hers, the wonder and joy had been replaced with confusion and joy. "What? Atlin? What are you talking about?"

"Isn't that what you're worried about? How to tell me that you've decided to send me to Atlin?"

"No! God, Ames... I mean... _No_. I'm not sending you to Atlin right now. If things get worse... well, it's always an option we'll have. But this isn't about Atlin, and I'd never make the final decision without talking it through with you again."

America almost didn't believe him. "Then what... Why... What's going on?"

_Thump_

Maxon gazed down at her stomach lovingly, momentarily distracted. Slowly, though, reality returned to him and a frown burdened his face. When the baby fell still he got up off his knees and dusted the grass away. He retook his seat and stared over at America, frowning. They were still and silent for a long minute. Then he said, "I wrote to Kota."

"You did _what_?" America hissed.

"You and I talked about possibly going to Carolina, seeing the house-"

"I remember."

"The more I thought about it, the more I realized that I had some things to say to him. Man to man. Brother to brother."

Though it thrilled America that Maxon thought of her brothers as his brothers, no 'in-law' about it, now was not the moment to rejoice. "What did you say to him?"

"For starters, I told him what I thought of his abandoning his family twice."

"You're an idiot, Maxon Schreave." she stabbed her chicken with a vengeance.

"What? Why?" he whined.

"Because you're the King of Illéa and he's beneath you. It demeans you to waste your time on an insect like Kota Singer. It lessens your greatness that you even spare him a thought, and in exchange you raise him up. You make him more than he is by favoring him with your precious time. He is _nothing_. You're an idiot." she seethed, a hot hate burning in her chest.

Maxon just looked at her, at a total loss for how to respond. He hadn't been expecting that kind of vitriol. Maybe he should have been expecting it, with the hormones and all. "Ames... he wrote back." he finally said. "He must have written back right away, otherwise we wouldn't have gotten the letter so soon."

"What did he say to you?"

"Nothing. He wrote to _you_."

"Burn it." America said, gesturing to one of the candles in the middle of the table.

"You should read it, Ames."

"Did you?"

"I did."

"Why?" she wasn't mad at him for reading her mail. She certainly had no use for a letter from Kota. Someone might as well find something to do with it.

"Because I knew it was my fault he was breaking the silence. You should read it, Ames. He... he's invited us out to Carolina. All of us. James, Kenna, Astra... everyone. Aspen, Lucy, and Meri too."

"I don't want to see him." she said, forcefully.

"But he'd let us stay at the house!"

"I wouldn't go if he'd let us stay on the moon! He's a snake, Maxon."

"He's contrite."

"I'll bet he is. I'll bet his conscience plagues him all day and all night, but I don't care about that. I'm not going to absolve him."

"Why not?" Maxon asked, shocked at her.

"Because he was going to _get me killed_. He was going to tell the world about my history with Aspen and let you and your father find out about it that way. You wouldn't have been able to show the leniency you showed Marlee twice in the same Selection. Not to mention, think of how it would have made you look, to have two different Selected running around with guards—"

"I _did_ have two different Selected running around with guards—"

"The point is, your father would have had Aspen and me publicly executed, and you wouldn't have been able to do anything but stand by and watch, not that you'd have really wanted to stop it—"

"Ames—"

"You think I haven't thought about this?"

"Ames, I—"

"The things you said to me before the shooting, the way you looked at me. That's the last thing I'd have seen or heard before being _executed_. Because of _Kota_. And he didn't _care_." When had she started crying?

"Come here." Maxon said, standing up and pulling her into his arms. After a moment, he coaxed her into standing, too. She followed his lead as he guided her over to their bench and they both sat down. "That's not what would have happened."

"Of course it is, your father was just looking for a reason—"

"What happened to Marlee and Carter happened because they got caught by a video camera. By the time Gavril got wind of it, it was too late to destroy the tapes. There was no proof of anything between you and Aspen. Kota would have been easy to discredit, and Father would sooner have discredited him than you."

"Why?"

"Precisely because of what you said. How would it make this monarchy look, that not one but _two _Selected were carrying on with Palace guards? His need to protect his legacy outweighed his hatred, even of you."

"What would you have done, if you'd heard about it that way?"

Maxon paused, thinking it through carefully, worrying his bottom lip as he ran through all of the simulations in his mind. "I'd have confronted you. In your room, or maybe in front of others, but I'd have sent them away after a moment. You'd have likely had a fair chance to explain, unlike when I saw you and Aspen in the hallway and—"

America shook her head, "Let's not relive that."

"Once was more than enough." he agreed. Then he sighed heavily and kissed her temple, "Kota wouldn't have gotten you killed. He'd have destroyed his own career by ruining his good name. Nothing more."

America blinked twice. For years she'd been certain that her brother had once been a threat to her very survival. Now she wasn't so sure. "Oh." she said, softly.

"Let me read you the letter?" Maxon offered.

America closed her eyes and nestled her head on Maxon's shoulder, allowing him to pull her close. Then, with his free hand, he retrieved the paper she'd seen him agonizing over earlier and he began to read,

"_America, _

_I have received a letter from your husband. I will admit, I had not thought to hear from him. I__'__d assumed that I was pretty well __'__out of the family__' __by now. By the way he addressed me, as __'__brother__'__, I take it that my assumption was incorrect. _

_I don__'__t know what this will mean to you, but I am sorry for the way that I treated you whilst you were home for Father__'__s funeral. It was wrong of me. Father and I did not leave things well, we had strains on our relationship you could not possibly know about. Fundamental differences that always clouded our interactions, though we tried to conceal that from the rest of you. Therefore, I was not at my best when he died, leaving things unresolved. Not that that excuses my behavior, merely accounts for it in some way. _

_I would not truly have blackmailed you as I threatened to do, I hope you__'__ve reasoned that out by now. It would not have been in my best interest, not matter how jealous I was at your chance to become a One. What good would it have done my career to have a duplicitous whore for a sister, instead an Elite or the Princess? None at all. I was purely bluffing, though I am sorry now. _

_Likewise, I regret barring you from our family home. I do not reside there, I live in a much nicer part of town now (The estates at Broadbank? Do you remember them?) I lease the house out and collect some small money from the lessees every month to add to my savings. Currently, the house is unoccupied, though the Queen__'__s childhood home never stays that way for long. If you and my _brother_ Maxon would like to visit, you are more than welcome. Please feel free to bring the others as well. I should like the chance to visit and to see my niece. I__'__ve also heard through the _Report_ that you are a godmother now. The child and its parents are more than welcome to squeeze in. I__'__ll send all utilities bills to the Palace at the end of your stay to recoup my costs, otherwise your stay will be rent-free. _

_I doubt this will matter to you at all, but I am still so proud of you, Sister. Though I am fundamentally opposed to the removal of the caste system, and am deeply distressed about the implications that will have on our society, that does not change my feelings for you as a person. I was proud of you on the day you left Carolina for the Selection, and I am proud of you today. _

_Kota__" _

America and Maxon sat there, under the stars, leant against each other for a long, silent moment. The baby kicked again and America absentmindedly moved Maxon's hand to press on the spot. A few more kicks and the baby was tired out and fell still.

"Tell me what you're thinking." Maxon said.

America sighed. "I think that's the closest to a proper apology Kota's ever come in his life, but I don't know if that means I want to expose myself to him again.

"Hm."

"He's going to send us the utilities bill. For staying at our family home!"

Maxon chuckled at that, "Rent-free, though."

"Oh, yes, that was big of him." America rolled her eyes. "I don't know if I want Astra around him. He doesn't deserve Astra's goodness."

"That sounds like Kenna's and James' decision to me."

"…I should tell them that we have this offer?"

"They all deserve to know." Maxon nodded.

America sighed heavily. "I wish we could just go to Carolina and not have to see him at all."

"He's my baby's uncle, like it or not, and I need to at least meet the man." Maxon said. "Besides, I'm kind of excited at the prospect. I have plans of tearing down that damned treehouse and using it for kindling."

"Maxon Calix Schreave!"

Maxon laughed, "Good riddance."

"No, Maxon, _bad _riddance." she reminded him. "If it wasn't for Aspen, Mom never could have manipulated me into entering the Selection in the first place. That treehouse is where it all started. That treehouse is also where Aspen broke up with me, which led to my being available for you to sweep me off my feet."

"I bet it would make a big flame." Maxon grinned.

"_No_, Maxon." she laughed.

"Fine. You're no fun." he kissed her temple.

America shook her head, but she really did appreciate her goofball husband. Now, thanks to him, she could associate smiles with agreeing to this trip, instead of just anger. "What was it Kota called me? A 'duplicitous whore'?"

"Yes, but you're _my _duplicitous whore." Maxon smiled affectionately.

"That's not funny." America said, wrenching her head up off his shoulder to glare at him.

"I'm sorry—"

"You dated _thirty-five _women at the same time before you settled on me, and I had to choose between you and one other man, and _I__'__m _the whore?"

Maxon sighed, "Ames—"

"How many of them did you kiss, Maxon? Because I've only kissed two men in my entire life, you and Aspen, and right now, I'm wishing I'd _never_ kissed one of you, and it's not the Palace guard!"

"Ames!" Maxon laughed, his shoulders shaking.

Now that she'd gotten that out of her system, she felt better enough to crack a smile, too.

"I was trying to make a joke at your brother's expense. Those were his words, and I was trying to make light of them." Maxon explained, not that he needed to.

"Yeah, okay."

"You should tell Kota all of that when we go see him in Carolina. Minus the part about wishing you'd never kissed me."

"I'm glad I kissed you, Maxon. I'm glad you kissed me and kept trying until you got it just right." America smiled.

"Would you be glad if I kissed you now?"

"I would be very glad." and she sounded just weary enough that Maxon did all the leaning in.


	38. Chapter 38

"You know," Marlee said, juggling Kile on her hip, "When I said that you and Maxon needed to take a trip, this is not what I had in mind." She looked around at the mass of Singers, Legers, and guards boarding the private jet plane.

"I know."

"I was thinking tropical island or secluded cottage, I was _not_ thinking family drama and taking half the Palace with you on the plane."

"Maybe someday we'll do a real trip." America didn't really hold out much hope. She was starting to think that their honeymoon had been a once in a lifetime opportunity at a vacation. As much as she'd appreciated it at the time, it wasn't really possible to appreciate one's_ last _vacation with one's husband enough.

It had been a week since they'd received Kota's letter, but once they'd decided that they were going to Carolina, it really didn't take long for the arrangements to be made. Aspen was insistent that if the trip be made at all, it be made with very little notice ahead of time so that the details wouldn't have time to leak to the rebels. By the time the rebels could get an effective attack organized, Maxon and America would already be back in Angeles.

So, with a little bit of schedule juggling, America and Maxon were standing on the tarmac, and for the first time since her wedding, America was headed back to the province of Carolina.

"Try to have some fun, okay?" Marlee ordered.

"Yes, boss." America smiled, pressing a kiss to Kile's cheek.

"Astra!" he squealed in Marlee's arms, and from across the tarmac America could see Astra putting up a similar fight with Kenna.

Marlee and Kenna's eyes met and they agreed at the same moment to set their children on the ground and let them say their goodbyes.

Kile and Astra ran for each other and met somewhere between their mothers in a big toddler hug. "Where you going?" America heard Kile ask, his eyes wide.

"I don't know!" Astra said, eyes just as wide.

"When you comin back?" Kile asked.

"I don't know!" Astra cried.

America hurried over to them and knelt down so that she could look them in the eye. "Kile, we're going on an airplane and it's going to take us to a different town."

"Why?" he asked, bottom lip trembling.

"To visit our family. Astra has an Uncle in Carolina, and we're going to see him."

"No, I don't!" Astra insisted.

"Astra, we talked about this." Kenna said soothingly, as she and Marlee made their way towards their upset children. "You have an uncle, but you haven't seen him since you were a baby."

"I don't want him! I only want Mackin!" Astra argued. Kenna sighed, heavily. It was hard to argue with that. Who needed Kota when they had an uncle like Maxon around?

"We'll be back in four days, Kile. Then Astra will be back at the Palace and you can play all day long. Four sleeps from now." America said, as the boy tightened his hold on Astra's hand.

Kile didn't say anything, just shook his head. He was not happy about this.

Marlee said, "It's alright, sweetheart, maybe we can make Astra some special cookies when she gets back?"

Kenna nodded at this, emphatically, "And we can bring back a present for Kile, can't we, Astra?"

"I want to go." Kile insisted.

"Not this time, buddy." Maxon's voice said from behind them. America felt a warm hand on her back.

"Um... Please?" Kile appealed, using his best possible manners to get what he was after.

"I'm sorry. You need to stay with your Mommy and Daddy and take care of the Palace." Maxon reminded him.

"I don't want to take care of the Palace." Kile complained.

"Alright." Marlee sighed. "This isn't going to be pretty. Kile, say goodbye to Astra, we need to get back to the Palace."

"NO!" Kile yelled at his mother, and Astra burst into inconsolable tears.

"Give him a hug and let's get on the plane, Astra." Kenna said, softly. Astra listened about the hug, but when it came time to get on the plane, her body went limp and she made her mother pick her up and carry her, screaming and crying, aboard.

"Try to have some fun." Marlee reminded America one more time before carting her tantrum-throwing child back to the car.

Maxon came around and offered America both of his hands, which she relied on heavily to help hoist herself back up to standing. She teetered for a moment, and then leant her head on his chest as she was swept with a dizzy spell.

"Why do I feel like we just separated true love?" America laughed, waiting to get her balance and breath back.

Maxon chuckled, "Maybe we did."

"They've been attached at the hip ever since Astra came to live at the Palace."

"Maybe once Meri gets older, and our little one joins in, they'll have more friends to play with and they won't be so devoted to each other." Maxon suggested.

America laughed, "Or maybe we'll be standing together fifteen years from now at their wedding."

"That would be alright, too." Maxon kissed America's forehead. "Ready to go, my love?"

"Yes."

"Gavril wants a few pictures of us boarding the plane."

"That's why Mary dressed me up so specially." America smiled. "Are you allowed to help me up the steps to the plane?"

"I can't imagine Silvia objecting." Maxon pressed a kiss to her lips and then offered her his arm. "It would make a poor visual to have my visibly pregnant queen topple backward down the stairs onto the tarmac whilst I stood by and watched."

They stood together at the bottom of the steps leading to the airplane, posed, then the cameramen moved to the side of the steps to capture their profiles as they walked up. Maxon did keep an arm around America's waist, much to her relief. This baby was throwing off all semblance of balance she'd once possessed, not that she'd ever been the most graceful of creatures, even in good times.

They paused at the top of the steps, turned for a few more photographs, and then they were on the plane and the crew sealed the door behind them.

America sighed with relief. Somewhere farther into the plane, Astra was still wailing. "I'm going to take my seat." Maxon said.

"See what you can do for your niece." America said and Maxon nodded.

Mary was waiting right next to America with a spare outfit, a comfortable pair of cotton sweatpants and one of Maxon's white v-necks. America smiled at her gratefully and immediately stepped out of her high heeled shoes. "Mary, I'm starting to think I married the wrong Palace resident. You are far more valuable to me than Maxon ever will be."

Mary giggled and gestured for America to follow. "Let's get you out of those tights, ma'am."

America nodded emphatically. Pregnant women did not deserve the additional torture of nylon tights.

America emerged from the small bedroom at the back of the airplane, leaving Mary to tidy up behind her, and crossed the length of the long, luxury jet plane past the rows of plush seats full of Palace employees and guards who all stood and bowed or curtseyed as she passed, all the way to the front of the plane where her family and the Legers were getting comfortable.

She found Maxon seated in a front-facing window seat with Astra curled up against his chest, while Kenna, James, and May were getting situated on an adjacent sofa, and Magda and Gerad were buckling into rear-facing seats across the plane. Aspen, Lucy, and Meri were still juggling all of the accouterments that come with traveling with an infant, and while Lucy stowed the diaper bag, Aspen stood by in full uniform, Baby Meri asleep on his chest, her little head falling softly on his heavily decorated shoulder.

"Oh, my God." America sighed, drinking in the sight of the Legers. Aspen peeked up at this and smirked at America's awe-struck expression. America clutched her stomach with both hands and peeked down at her own belly. "Hurry up, baby. Come out! I want to put you on Uncle Aspen's shoulder." Aspen stifled a chuckle at this to avoid awakening his daughter, and next to her, America heard a throaty, "Ahem." America looked down to find Maxon with his blond eyebrows raised high. "Or Daddy's. Daddy's shoulder is good, too." She informed her belly before sinking down into the seat next to Maxon's.

"Very good." Maxon boasted. "And with a lot more medals than Uncle Aspen's."

"Well, not everyone can be born fully-decorated. Some of us have to earn our medals." Aspen jabbed.

"Not us, though, baby." Maxon winked at America's midriff and America rolled her eyes.

"I really don't know how I put up with you two." she shook her head.

Astra wiggled a little in Maxon's lap, the lapel of his jacket fisted tightly in one hand, the other gripping a bag of pretzels given by one of the flight attendants, and she wasn't loudly crying anymore, but there were fat teardrops occasionally escaping her eyes as she stared, dazed and entranced, out the airplane window next to Maxon.

"Astra, honey, do you want me to open those pretzels for you?" America asked.

"No, they for Kile." she said in a thick voice.

America met Maxon's eyes questioningly and he nodded. Apparently they'd already discussed this while America was changing.

"You're going to save them and give them to Kile when we get back?"

"Yeah."

"Okay. Do you want me to bring you another bag of pretzels?"

"Yes, please." Astra sighed, forlornly.

America laughed as quietly as she could and went quickly to the plane's snack pantry, pulling out another little bag of pretzels.

"Here you go, sweetheart." America said. "Should I open them for you?"

"No." Astra said, taking the bag and adding it to her collection. "It for Kile."

"They're both for Kile?" America blinked.

Astra nodded against Maxon's chest, a wet spot where her cheek rested, and America turned to Kenna and James. Was this kid really going to waste away, saving every possible thing for a time when she could share it with Kile Woodwork?

Kenna sighed and got up, digging through an overhead compartment until she pulled out a large, empty blue bag. "Okay. This is Kile's bag, alright, Astra? We're going to keep everything that we're saving for Kile in this bag so we don't lose it."

"Okay." Astra held the pretzels out for her mother to collect.

"But Astra, I know if Kile was on the plane right now, he'd want you to eat some pretzels, too. He'd share one of his bags of pretzels with you, wouldn't he?"

"…Yeah." she agreed, reluctantly.

"Okay, so when you're ready, I think you should eat some pretzels. Okay?"

"Kay." Astra sniffled.

Maxon was absolutely enamored with the whole thing. He pressed a firm kiss to Astra's red head and beamed down at the heartbroken little girl.

Aspen and Lucy were seated now and working out who would hold the baby for the first part of the flight. "I'll do it." America volunteered.

"You want to hold her?" Lucy asked.

"If you don't mind. I'll take all the time with my goddaughter that I can get." America grinned. She made to get up again but Aspen gestured that she should stay down. He came to her and gently deposited the sleeping girl in her arms.

"She'll be hungry when she wakes up. That'll be Lucy's cue." He said.

"Okay." America breathed, hardly daring to blink as the baby got re-situated and snuggled in with an unconscious sigh. Aspen pressed a kiss to Queen America's forehead, then baby America's, then he returned to his wife.

There was a little bit of a scuffle with the kids when it came time for the plane to take off. Astra started whimpering and Meri started crying, which only spurred Astra on. Meri was much easier to pacify than her older counterpart, however. Literally, Aspen passed a small pacifier back to America and the moment it was popped in the baby's mouth, she fell silent. A few moments longer, and she was back to sleep. America settled in, relaxing into her seat and turning to watch her husband.

Maxon was flawless with Astra, speaking in soothing tones to her, asking her simple questions to keep her engaged. As overwhelming as this morning was for Astra, that's how comforting Maxon was being in return.

"How fast do you think we're going?"

"I don't know! Fast!" Astra looked worried, and a little exhilarated.

"Wow, look how high we are. Do you see how little the houses are down there?"

"Um, yeah…" There was trepidation in her little voice.

"My ears are popping, are your ears popping?"

"Yes! Ouch-"

"Here, have some apple juice. Apple juice really helps."

"Okay." Implicit trust. America could feel her heart melting into a puddle at the sight of them.

And pretty soon, Astra was too busy soaking up Maxon's attention to worry about her misgivings about flight. By the time they reached their cruising altitude, it seemed like Astra was well occupied by Maxon and everything else was gone from her mind, until she suddenly pressed a finger to the window and said, "I want Kile."

"You do?" Maxon asked.

"Yeah."

"He'd probably like it up here in the sky, wouldn't he?" Maxon said, sympathetically.

"Yeah."

"I wish he could have come." Maxon said. "I know I'd be really, really sad if I had to leave your Aunt America behind at the Palace."

Astra nodded and moved her hand from the window to Maxon's cheek. "She your friend?"

"Oh, yes. She's my very, very best friend." Maxon grinned over at America.

"No, I your best friend!" Astra reminded him, eyes wide with panic.

Maxon glanced at America, amusement all over his face, then looked back at Astra, "Oh, you're much better than my best friend, Astra. You're my Pumpkin head. I have a lot of friends, but only one Pumpkin head."

"Me?" she asked, coyly.

"Yes, you." Maxon pressed a loud kiss to her little cheek and she giggled.

America felt a solid thump in her stomach and grinned. "The baby's awake. Astra, do you want to feel the baby kick?"

Astra looked down at Meri with supreme mistrust. "That baby not kicking." she said, seriously.

America laughed. "No, not this baby. The one in my belly. You remember the baby in my belly, don't you?"

"Oh, yeah." She grinned.

"Here, Maxon, you take this one." America said, passing Meri's unconscious form to Maxon, who eagerly wrapped her up in his strong arms. "And Astra, come here for a second."

Astra climbed into America's lap with only one jealous look back at Maxon, but he winked at her and she remembered that she was his only Pumpkin head, and she returned her attention to America's belly. America placed Astra's hand on her stomach and they both waited a few moments, Astra frowning intensely, focusing deeply on her task. Then, out of nowhere, they were rewarded with a good, hard kick. Astra gasped and pulled her hand back, "What were that?"

"That's the baby giving you a high five." America grinned.

"Why?"

"Hm. I think it wants to be your friend." America said, brushing a hand through Astra's copper tresses.

Astra giggled at this, "Okay!"

"Astra, honey, why don't you come over here and work on your coloring book?" Kenna called.

"Coloring?" Astra asked, considering it. She was, after all, right in the middle of making a new friend.

"Sure, we got you those new crayons before we left-"

"Oh, yeah, I remember those." Astra bubbled, leaping down from America's lap, but she paused and turned back. She leant her head down, "I'll see you later, baby." Then she leant up, "I'll see you later, Mackin." And she dashed across the plane to her mother and father.

Maxon sighed, an utterly contented sound, and wrapped an arm around his wife. "Do you really think I'll love our baby more than her? I don't see how that's possible."

"I don't know." America shrugged. "But if there's one person on this earth capable of giving so much love away, it's you."

He grinned at this and leant over, kissing her to demonstrate just how capable of loving he was. "So, how many of these are we having?" he asked America, peering down at Meri in his arms. "A dozen? Two dozen?"

America laughed, "Two dozen sounds like too many, don't you think?"

"You're probably right. Wise queen." He complimented her. "Let's start with seven boys and seven girls and see how we feel."

"_Maxon_." America pleaded, rubbing her stomach to placate the kicking, fussing baby inside.

"Right. You're right, as usual. Six boys and seven girls, that's much more reasonable."

"I never saw myself having more than five." America shook her head, thinking back to her own childhood. "Five was more than enough for my parents to be getting on with."

"Oh, come now." Maxon said, grinning mischievously. "Are you telling me that you're going to be outdone by your mother? Sure you can handle a few more than she had."

"My mother didn't have a country to run, you know." America reminded him, chuckling at his cheekiness.

"Fine. I see your point. Three boys and seven girls, that's my final offer, Ames."

America laughed, throwing her head back in mirth. "You and your girls, Maxon. I should have known this would be a problem during the Selection."

"Can you blame me, Ames?" he peered down adoringly at the sleeping bundle in his arms and America honestly knew that she could not.

When Meri woke up and started fussing, Lucy took over and America showed her to the bedroom in the back so that she could have a little privacy while she fed the baby. It didn't take long, and Lucy was back at the front of the plane.

"Hey, Ames, where was Lucy just now?" May asked, coming over and giving America's belly a little rub in greeting. "Some place private?"

"There's a bedroom at the back of the plane."

"You royals really do travel in style." May grinned. "Do you think I could steal you for a minute?" she asked, importantly.

"Of course." America said, curiously. She extracted her hand from Maxon's and stood, arching and stretching her back, which protested against the flight by cracking and popping loudly.

"Ouch." Maxon winced at the sound, examining America carefully. "Are you alright?"

"Fine. Doesn't hurt." America promised. "It might by tonight, but I'm fine for now."

He reached up and rubbed her lower back sympathetically with his warm hand. "Let me know what I can do." he said.

America smiled down at him, "I will." and then she followed her younger sister's tugging hand.

"Where's this bedroom?" May asked.

"All the way at the back." America said, and her sister dashed anxiously ahead, dragging America behind by the hand.

"This door?"

"Yeah."

May slid in, pulled America through, and then closed the door behind them.

"May, what is going on?" America asked, folding her arms and finding, to her surprise, that her baby bump made a little arm rest right beneath her crossed forearms.

"I want to talk about Kenna."

"Kenna?"

"I think this is going to be weird for her."

America blinked, "What, you mean-"

"I mean Kota. Kenna and Kota were all each other had until you came along, and even then, they spent all their time playing together... they were best friends like you and me."

America hadn't thought of this. "And you think this will be hard on her?"

"Yeah, I do." May sighed and collapsed on the bed, then she paused, staring down at the blankets in mistrust. "You and Maxon haven't... you know... on here, have you?"

America laughed, feeling her cheeks turn pink at the memories that question evoked, "May, this is the plane we took on our honeymoon."

"Oh, gross." May leapt up, disgusted.

America laughed, "They changed the blankets, May, it's clean."

She sighed heavily and then collapsed back down. "Fine. But I protest this."

"How did you think this baby was made?" America giggled, rubbing a hand over her belly to make her point.

"Stork." May sulked.

There was a firm knock at the door as America laughed and then Gerad poked his head inside. "Aspen sent me to check on you both. You rushed off."

"We're fine. He worries too much." America said.

"We're just trying to figure out what to do about Kenna."

"Why?" Gerad asked, confused, and slipping in to close the door behind him.

"You know how, ever since Ames left for the Palace, you and I are all we have left?"

"Yeah." Gerad leant against the door. "And Astra."

"Well, before any of us were born, Kenna and Kota were all each other had. They were really close. We're about to see Kota for the first time in years, and he's... he's been horrible...well..." May faltered.

"Just since he got famous." America said, realizing that she was the only one in the room who could remember a time before Kota was horrible. "He used to be normal, I swear. He was never happy being a Five, but he wasn't awful until he got famous and had a real chance for a different caste."

"But... he's a sculptor." Gerad frowned. "I don't understand. He's a really talented artist, why wouldn't he want to be a Five? It's not like me, I'm not good at any art."

"You were pretty good at Maxon's photography class." America reminded him, smiling.

Gerad shrugged, thinking about it. "I guess... yeah, it was fun. I don't think I'm good enough to make money from it, though. I'm not like the rest of you."

America winced, saddened for her little brother, and she rubbed a hand through his hair affectionately. He immediately worked to rectify the mess she'd made of his locks. There was a soft knock at the door.

Kenna poked her head in, "Ah hah." she said. "So I was right. There's a Singer kid meeting happening without me."

"About you." May corrected, confessing all. "And Kota."

Kenna nodded with a heavy sigh and came into the room, closing the door behind her. "It'll be nice to see him again."

"Will it?" May asked, rolling her eyes.

"Yes." Kenna said, pointedly, wrapping an arm around America and guiding her over to the bed. It was a gentle reminder for America to stay off her feet as much as possible while her body was undergoing the stress of traveling. America leant against the headboard and crossed her legs, and May turned around to face her. Kenna sat on one side of the bed, and Gerad followed to sit on the other side. They formed a little circle, their knees all touching, their faces somewhat strained at the thought of facing their long-lost brother.

"Why didn't he ever come visit?" Gerad asked, trying to hide the vulnerability in his voice. It was easy to forget that, in the time before Maxon, Gerad had a different hero to worship. His older brother, Kota.

"Some of that is my fault." America said. "I needed some time away from him. It took a long time for me to invite him to the Palace. Well after my wedding—"

"He didn't need an invitation to come to our house, though." May said. "You can't blame yourself."

"It wounded his pride." America shrugged. "That's all I meant."

Kenna studied the faces of her younger siblings closely, then frowned a little. "You'd think that when he and I were kids, there would have been more money to go around. Fewer mouths to feed."

"Is that not true?" May asked.

"Dad wasn't as established back then. He and Mom were so young, the same age I am now. They couldn't get as much for his paintings, and Mom wasn't able to go out and work as often because she needed to stay home with the two small, incessantly hungry children. Those were the hardest times, I think. We went hungry a lot, more than any of you ever did. Sometimes we went to bed with nothing but dreams of the upper castes to fill us. That's where Kota comes from. It's not the same place you three know."

"You come from there, too." America reminded her. "But you're not like him."

Kenna shrugged, "I have James. I had James as a friend for years before we married, that made a big difference, and I had no real chance at fame or fortune on my own. If I'd had talent like Kota's and no dream of a life with someone I loved, I might have turned out more like him. I don't know." Kenna shrugged. "But I don't blame him."

"I do." America frowned. "He was such an ass after Dad died, I'll never forgive him for that. We'd never needed our big brother more, and he utterly failed us. God, he's so selfish—"

"He blamed Dad for a lot of our problems. Said Dad wasn't ambitious enough, and that was why we were struggling." Kenna explained and America stared coldly at the bed between them. "Ames," Kenna said, placing a hand on her knee, "They didn't have the same relationship you and Dad had."

"Dad was proud of Kota." America argued. "When Kota's sculpture sold, and even before that, when Kota was devoting day and night to the stupid thing, spending all his money on more metal, Dad was so proud! And Kota—"

"Sold his sculpture and built himself the life he felt we all should have been leading all along." Kenna said, patiently. "He blamed Dad for keeping us hungry and poor—"

"Dad gave us everything he had!" America insisted angrily, and Kenna made the same soothing noise she made for Astra whenever the girl got too tired and cranky to fall asleep. A hushing, lulling, compassionate sound that sucked the spark right out of America's anger.

"I'm not saying Kota was right." Kenna shook her head. "In fact, he and I have had our own words on the topic. I'm just saying that I can see things from his perspective, not entirely but enough to know that he's still my baby brother, and he's doing the best he can. He's not the type to do anything other than the best he can."

May sighed and rested her cheek on her hand and her elbow on her knee. "I wonder if he's been lonely."

"He's probably had girls." America rolled her eyes.

"Yeah, but even Kota's bound to miss us around Christmas and his birthday and stuff." May reasoned.

"The way you feel about Kota, that's how Kota felt about Dad, Ames." Kenna said. "The major difference, I think, was that Kota was still seeking some kind of apology or acceptance… Kota was still missing something from Dad when Dad up and died, and he wasn't at his best when he realized he'd never have it."

America sighed, scanning the eyes of her siblings carefully. "You're going to take Astra to see him?" America asked.

"Of course." Kenna said. "Astra will love his sculptures. Maybe he'll even let her make one of her own."

"Don't hold your breath, he'll be too worried about her messing up his furniture." America huffed.

"Ames." Kenna said, reproachfully.

"Fine! I mean, I was going to be mostly civil to him anyway."

"Good." Kenna said.

"We'll invite him over for dinner tonight or something, but I don't think he'll come." America said.

"It'll still mean something that we asked. You might not think it'll mean anything to him, but it will." Kenna promised.

"I'll invite him to the Palace when we leave." America concluded, grumpily, and Kenna and May sprouted identical smiles at her petulant tone. The family resemblance was uncanny.

"Do you think I can still 'accidentally' kick my soccer ball at his head?" Gerad asked, thoughtfully. "Or 'accidentally' lose some of my bug collection in his bed?"

The girls looked at each other, smirking, and May said, "Ger, I think those are both excellent ideas. He's definitely earned a slug or two on his pillow."

There was a knock at the door and then Maxon poked his head in, eyes widening in surprise. "What have I walked in on here?" he asked.

"A Singer kid meeting." May said.

"Oh, dear, I don't want to intrude on that." he smiled.

"Don't be silly." Kenna smiled. "You're a Singer kid, too. Come on in."

Maxon flashed a megawatt smile, lighting up the whole world at Kenna's accepting words, but he shook his head, "I'm here on a mission for my Pumpkin head. James is asleep and Astra's asking for something, I just can't quite understand what she's saying. It sounds like 'beanie'?"

Kenna chuckled, "Blinky. It's her stuffed animal. I know where it's packed, I'll go get it. I think we're done here?" She looked around at her siblings, questioningly. They all gave a little nod in agreement. Kenna nodded, too, and then stood, pressing a kiss to Maxon's cheek as she passed him.

"What was that for?" Maxon asked, taken aback.

For the first time since the Singer kid meeting began, Kenna's voice faltered. "For being such a wonderful brother and uncle."

When May slipped past him, she too pressed a kiss to his cheek. "We love you, Maxon." she said, and then she left.

Gerad followed May, looking very shy and awkward standing in front of Maxon. But finally, he wrapped his arms around Maxon's waist and leant in for a big hug, before walking away without saying a word.

"What was that about?" Maxon asked, his eyes wide with surprise, his body frozen and stunned.

America sighed heavily and stretched her legs out, sinking down onto the mattress with a frown. "Kota."

"Oh." Maxon nodded, stepping in and closing the door behind him. "I see."

"It's going to be really hard to be nice to him, Maxon." America said, watching him as he slid his shoes and jacket off, then slipped into bed with her. She curled up on her side next to him.

"I know that." Maxon said. "I don't think I realized how stressful this would be for all of you. I definitely didn't think about the kind of stress it would put you through when I wrote that letter."

"You didn't know he'd respond." America reasoned.

"I'm the King of Illéa, Ames, I was pretty damn sure he'd respond." Maxon grinned, tracing her cheekbone with his thumb in a comforting gesture.

"Well… I think the really good news is that they're all going to be okay." America said. "Kenna, May, and Gerad are going to get through this just fine."

"What about you?"

"What are the laws about Queens of Illéa murdering their brothers?"

"You're definitely eligible for a pardon from the King." Maxon grinned.

"Good. It's good that I have that option as a last resort."

Maxon pressed a kiss to her forehead and she tucked herself in against him, her soft belly pressing into his rock solid abdomen.

"Just remember, Kota is not the enemy." Maxon said, lips tickling the top of her head. "You and I have too many enemies in this world to lose sight of that."

"Yeah, Kota's no super-villain." America agreed. "He's not nearly smart enough." She listened for a moment to Maxon's beating heart and felt the baby fluttering around inside her, and then she spoke a few dark thoughts she'd only barely dared to let herself think. "I wonder if he's ever really cared for anyone other than himself. I mean, I definitely felt close to him as a kid, but I wonder if that wasn't just manipulation. Was he just using me because I'd help him with chores and cheer him on, make him feel good about himself? Was I just his minion or something?"

"You can't think that way." Maxon shook his head. "He's your big brother, the relationship you had with him was real. Besides, if all he ever wanted was to use you, surely he'd be making use of you now that you're the Queen?"

The baby kicked Maxon in the naval and Maxon laughed. "I think the baby agrees with me." he grinned.

"Your baby has been entirely too active this week, sir. Ever since it learned to kick, it's been beating me up." America complained.

Maxon laughed and made an amused attempt at a scolding tone, "Baby, I'm surprised at you. You should know better than to beat up your mother." It swiftly kicked him again in response. "Well, it's an active little heir, one way or another." Maxon smiled.

"Rebellious, too, apparently." America mumbled into Maxon's chest. His smell was doing all kinds of wonderful things to calm her.

There was a little, light, unsteady knock at the door this time, and the Kenna reappeared with Astra on her hip. In one hand, Astra was clutching a well-used teddy bear by the arm, and sucking the thumb of her other hand. She was the one who had knocked.

"Oh, look, Maxon and Aunt America think it's nap time, too." Kenna said to Astra, brushing a hand through her daughter's strawberry hair but casting an apologetic look at Maxon and America.

Astra just blinked at them, blearily.

"Is it nap time, Astra?" Maxon asked.

Astra shook her head 'no'.

"It is for me, I'm sleepy." America said, lips tickling Maxon's collarbone over his shirt.

"Yes, we have just enough time for a good nap before snack time." Maxon agreed, eyeing Astra at these words.

"We havin' snack time?" Astra asked, surprised.

"Of course we are! Don't we always?" Maxon asked. Astra shrugged. Apparently she'd been under the impression that being so far away from the Palace meant the end of such comforts as 'snack time'.

"What we havin?" Astra asked, interestedly.

"Cheese and crackers and milk and juice and cookies and brownies and pretzels." Maxon announced, and by the end of his rambling list, Astra's eyes were wide with wonder.

"All that?" she asked.

"All that." Maxon chuckled, knowing beyond a doubt that this was definitely America's niece. Food was the direct way to Astra's heart. "Do you want to take a nap with Aunt Ames and me?"

"No…"

Maxon winked at Kenna, "Okay, see you in an hour, then."

Astra frowned. "What you mean, Mackin?"

"We'll just be in here sleeping for an hour. You go on back to the front of the plane, I'll see you later."

Astra didn't like this. "I can stay here. I can be quiet."

"Oh, no, my dear." Maxon said. "This is the napping room. See the bed?" Astra nodded. "You can only be here if you're napping."

"Oh." Astra weighed the options in her mind. "I'm not tired, Mackin." she despaired.

"Maybe if you lay still and quiet and close your eyes, you can stay." Kenna offered.

Astra nodded, eyes on Maxon. "I can try." she said.

"Good girl." Kenna pressed a kiss to her forehead, then set her down on the bed. "You two don't mind?"

"Not at all." America assured her.

"Maxon, can you hold all three of them?" Kenna asked, peeking between America, the baby bump, and Astra.

"A skill I'll need to learn if I'm to convince America to have three boys and seven girls with me."

Kenna raised her eyebrows high at this but did not say anything about it. "If she can't settle down, send her back to me and we'll have nap time on the couch at the front of the plane."

"Alright." Maxon said, slipping over so that Astra could fit in between America and him.

Kenna closed the door softly behind her as she left, and Astra sighed as if in relief. She'd been really worried she'd have to spend an hour on the plane without Maxon.

Now that America was in her fifth month of pregnancy, she was no longer allowed to sleep on her back. Dr. Ashlar had been very clear that the baby was now heavy enough to cause oxygen deficiency problems for the both of them if she slept on her back. So America curled on her side around Astra to rest her head on Maxon's shoulder, and Maxon wrapped an arm over Astra and the baby bump, making a bridge to America's hip.

Astra, teddy bear clutched tightly, was the first one asleep, followed quickly by America. Maxon must have drifted off sometime afterward.

When America awoke, it was more like an hour and a half later, and she felt tiny kisses on the baby bump and heard little giggles and shifting in the bed.

"Time to wake up, Ames." Maxon chuckled, and America opened her eyes to find Astra pecking kisses on the baby bump and giggling as she got kicked in return. "The baby woke up before you did." Maxon explained.

"That baby kicked me!" Astra laughed, suddenly loud and boisterous now that America was awake.

"I think it just wants to play with you." America smiled leaning up in her elbows to get a better look at her niece.

"Yeah, we friends." Astra explained, then turned her attention back to the baby. She skated her little fingers over the bump and cooed happily until she got a thump for her troubles and collapsed into giggles.

This time, Maxon swept her into his arms and tickled her, "Alright, let's give the baby a break." Maxon said. "I think it's snack time."

"Snack time!" Astra cheered as Maxon stood, tossed her into the air and let her fall onto the mattress with a soft thud. More laughs, louder this time.

America took her time getting out of bed, careful to avoid a head rush or a strain on her round ligament. By the time she was up, Maxon had Astra by both ankles and the little girl hung upside down, her red hair falling straight past her head, swaying a little with laughter as she peeked up, or maybe it was down, at America.

"Ready to go?" Maxon asked.

"Yep." America laughed, grabbing Blinky the bear from the bed and allowing Maxon and upside-down Astra to lead the way back to the front of the plane. The guards and staff, including Mary, stood at the sight of Maxon and America, and laughed at the sight of Astra as Maxon walked past. He nodded to them as if nothing unusual was happening at all.

By the time they made it to the front of the plane, Astra was red in the face from laughing so hard and being upside down for so long.

"Here you are, Madam." Maxon said, dropping one of Astra's feet and holding her out to Kenna by the ankle. "One fully-napped three-year-old, as requested."

Kenna laughed and swept her daughter into her arms, righting her. "Thank you, kind sir." she said as she gently corrected Astra's messy hair with her hands. America handed Blinky to James with a wink, and James returned the bear to its place in their luggage.

"Mommy, it snack time!" Astra said, lolling back on her mother's shoulder as all the blood went rushing out of her head.

"Is it really, baby girl?" Kenna giggled at her daughter.

"Mackin says!" Astra nodded.

"Well, he _is_ the King. If Maxon says, then it must be true."

Astra nodded, thoughtfully, while Maxon asked Gerad to go and have Mary rally the flight attendants for snack time. When Gerad was off to the middle of the plane and Maxon's attention was back on the family, Astra asked, "Mackin, where your crown?"

Sometimes she forgot that Maxon was the King, and then when she remembered she'd have new questions for him about all of that.

"I didn't bring it with me this time." he grinned.

"Why?"

"It's too heavy to wear too often." he reported, returning to his seat next to America.

"I make you one." she said, nodding at his predicament and working to find a solution. She dug out her crayons and got to work on a spare piece of paper while Mary and the two flight attendants appeared and got to work laying out the snacks.

By the time the food was ready, Maxon had a brand new crown, hand crafted with two sheets of paper taped together, and decorated with bright yellow to represent gold, along with several pink, green, purple, and brown shapes to represent jewels.

It was the silliest thing America had ever seen Maxon wear, but she knew, once Astra crawled into his lap and crowned him herself, that Maxon would be wearing it for the rest of the flight.

She was almost right.

Mary had just appeared to help America back into her real clothes. They were a half an hour from landing, and there would be a line of people waiting for autographs, as well as paparazzi waiting for pictures, when they landed.

A guard appeared just behind Mary, a heavy frown on his lips, and he made a beeline for Aspen. He leant down to whisper in Aspen's ear, and Aspen's face grew incredibly grave. He nodded, and the guard disappeared.

Aspen was holding Meri in his arms, entertaining her with a brightly colored soft plastic toy, but he turned to Lucy and pecked her on the lips before shuffling the baby into her arms.

"Are you alright?" America heard Lucy ask.

"We'll see." Aspen said, hurrying off to the middle of the plane.

Maxon and America shared a grave look.

"That looks like something you need to get involved in, Maxon." America frowned.

"I agree." he reluctantly removed his paper crown and bestowed it upon America, along with a quick kiss, and then he followed after Aspen. Lucy turned in her seat to look over at America, a questioning look on her beautiful face. America just shrugged in response. Neither of them knew what was going on.

"Ma'am." Mary said, concern on her face. "Let's get you dressed and touch up your hair and makeup."

"Of course."

America took the hand Mary offered to help her stand, and noticed that this time her back really did ache a little. As the walked down the middle of the plane, a startling number of the seats were empty. It seemed all of the guards were with Aspen and Maxon behind a closed door to America's right, a mini-security room like the ones at the Palace.

"Something's going on." America mused as Mary opened the door and led her in to the bedroom at the back. The blankets were still rumpled from where she, Maxon, and Astra had shared that wonderful nap, that preview of America's and Maxon's future as parents. Was that really only a couple of hours ago?

"Whatever it is, you won't want to face it in sweatpants, your Majesty." Mary said, with a bracing, encouraging smile.

"I really would be lost without you." America agreed.

"Let's get you ready." Mary smiled.

America's lips were freshly painted, her hair neatly arranged in a twist, and her dress draped over her body in crisp, straight curtains. She had her queen face on, and it was time to take her place beside her king.

America knocked on the security room door but did not enter. She wanted to give Aspen and Maxon the opportunity to refuse her, to tell her later, in their own way. Avery was the guard who answered the knock, and he bowed to the Queen before turning to his superiors. "Your Majesty, the Queen is here."

Maxon appeared behind Avery and muttered his thanks, but he did not invite America in. Instead, they returned to the bedroom where Mary was still tidying up and repacking all of the makeup and hair supplies.

"Mary, we need a minute. Leave the makeup out." he instructed.

Leave the makeup out? Why?

"Yes, your Majesty."

He stopped Mary before she could leave the room and whispered something in her ear. Mary blanched, leaning back to look at him questioningly before curtseying and closing the door behind her.

"Ames…" he stopped. He simply had no idea how to continue.

"What is it?" America asked, sinking onto the bed, heart thrumming in her chest. Something was wrong.

"It's about Kota."

Oh, God, no. America somehow knew what he was going to say before he could say it, knew what was wrong but prayed she was mistaken.

"What…" she couldn't even ask the question. She didn't want to know. And yet, she desperately needed to know.

Maxon failed again, shaking his head at himself as he peered down at her. "Kota…"

Kota's been in an accident, he's very ill, he's run away, he's moving to Angeles?

He's changed his mind about letting them into the house? He was never going to do it anyway, it was all a cruel joke?

He's personally demolished the house so none of them could ever visit again?

Kota's secretly married, secretly a murderer, secretly sorry for all of the terrible things he's said and done to the rest of the family?

America's mind raced, trying to make this anything other than what it was, but before she could find something remotely plausible to explain the commotion on the plane, Maxon found the courage to finish his sentence.

"Kota is dead."


	39. Chapter 39

James took Astra to his parent's house for the night. The little girl knew something was wrong, but Kenna wasn't in a good place to explain it all in a way that a three-year-old could understand. Astra's grandmother and grandfather on James' side would be thrilled to see her and show her, above all, a normal, happy time. The next evening Astra would come back to the Singer house, but by then, they'd all be ready for her. Explaining this was something they had to do right, and none of them were ready to do it yet.

Maxon almost didn't let Astra go. If a rebel got a hold of that little girl, it would actually destroy him in a way that he couldn't accurately predict. In the end, he sent Astra with a small security team headed by Avery. Avery would take care of her. Avery would die shielding that little girl, if he had to.

When they first arrived at America's childhood home, in the dead of night after remaining in a holding pattern above Carolina for hours while the security detail on the ground cleared the airport of all press and civilians, and then secured the Singer house, Maxon was careful to take it all in. He'd dreamed and dreamed of what his wife's upbringing had been like, and now here he was, standing in front of the house where she was raised.

"It's smaller than I'd imagined." was all he said, guiding America inside.

Magda had her big breakdown on the plane. It was an on-the-floor, full-body, begging-any-God-that-will-listen breakdown. By the time the plane was on the ground, she was quiet. There were tears, but no more sobs, and definitely no more words. What good would words be? America figured her mother was likely lost in memories, remembering the day she found out she was pregnant with Kota, told Dad that they were expecting Kota, felt Kota move, felt Kota kick, gave birth to Kota, held Kota in her arms for the first time. His first steps, first words, first art projects. America felt a kind of detached sympathy for her mother. She didn't know what she'd do, if someone walked up to her and told her that her own baby was dead.

Kenna was very brave, right up until Astra and James disappeared around the corner on their way to James' parent's house. It would only be ten minutes each way, James would be back in half an hour which, for Kenna's kind of grief, seemed to be no time at all. She was still sitting on the front porch of the house, lost in a white haze of nonverbal non-thought, when James returned. She spent the rest of the night in his arms, almost catatonic.

May was in the studio painting. She stayed there until dawn, well-guarded but not particularly talkative.

Gerad went to his room and closed the door. He wanted to be left alone.

America sat with Maxon at the kitchen table, both sipping lukewarm tea without any enthusiasm. Most of the original Singer furniture was still here. Kota hadn't let them take anything to Angeles when they moved, and the tenants since then were heavily invested in keeping the Queen's original furnishings in place. "Do you want a tour?" America asked, weakly.

It was beyond weird to be back there, in that little house again. Even weirder to be peering over at Maxon in that house. "That's where my Mom sat for dinner on the night I got my letter inviting me to enter your Selection." America reflected, before Maxon could answer her tour question. "She made such a big deal about it…"

"All you wanted was to marry Aspen Leger." Maxon knew the lore by heart. Theirs was his favorite story. He took a sip.

America turned her head to the empty chair that once had been her father's. She could still remember the yellow paint in his hair, his understanding tone… she half-expected that by remembering him so clearly, he'd appear before her and tell her what to do now that Kota was… She couldn't even think the word. This was a surprise to her. Her mind was in some kind of shock, it had shut down to protect itself, and one of the things it had blocked out in the name of self-preservation was the word, that synonym for 'deceased'.

"I'd love a tour." Maxon said, startling her.

There wasn't much to show. Most of the rooms in the house were occupied by grieving residents, not to be disturbed. This was Mary's first time at the Singer house, and she was hard at work trying to make everything perfect. It was the only way she knew how to help, so everyone else was just giving her space. She was dominating the living room, tidying and organizing what was already there, as well as unpacking and setting up things they'd brought with them.

In the end, America just took Maxon to her room. That was what he'd been most looking forward to seeing, anyway. She changed into the nightdress Mary had laid out for her while Maxon had a good look around. There wasn't much there, there never had been much. He liked the art on her walls, though.

"I did those." America explained as she slipped out her earrings and removed her bracelet, setting both on the small, bare table where she used to keep her makeup and her stationary.

"Really?" Maxon asked, impressed. "I didn't know you could paint."

America shook her head. "I can't. Those aren't nearly good enough to sell, Maxon."

"I disagree. I'll have to get you to paint something for me, sometime." Maxon grinned.

"I gave up painting when it became clear that I had a marketable singing voice." America said. "Those are all from when I was a kid. I stopped painting when I was around ten years old."

"So you're saying you won't paint something for me?" Maxon asked, turning back to take in the vision of his wife before him. She was lit only by the impossibly bright moonlight streaming in her window, she somehow managed to look both ghostly and, with her distended belly, full of life.

America didn't answer. She didn't have the energy for banter. Maxon sighed at the look on her face and opened his arms wide, crossing over to her in two quick strides and wrapping her up.

Still, she wasn't crying. So she had that going for her.

"Let's get some rest." Maxon said.

"I want to be briefed in the morning." America insisted.

"Ames, I can take care of this for you—"

"And what am I supposed to do while you're busy 'taking care of this' for me?" she snapped. "I'm not just going to sit around and wallow, I need something to do, I want to be briefed—"

"Of course." Maxon kissed her temple firmly. "Of course. You'll come with me for the briefing in the morning."

America sighed. "Good. Thank you. Being Queen is the only thing that's going to keep me sane right now."

"I understand." Being King was all that kept him sane after his parents died. It was important to keep her busy, not to let the grief drag her under, Maxon realized.

Maxon tugged America over to the little bed she'd grown up sleeping on. It was very different from what they had in the Palace. "Think all three of us will fit?" he asked, trying for 'amused'.

"I hope so. Mom offered to let us use her room, but I still can't go in there."

"Can't go in there?"

"It's just… a Dad thing." she shrugged. "It's not a logical thing. It's a Dad thing."

"We'll squeeze in here." Maxon reassured her, stripping down to his boxers, carefully folding his clothes and setting them in a neat stack on top of the dresser, and then laying down.

America couldn't put it off any longer. She crawled in next to him and curled up on her side, letting him spoon her. It seemed to make him feel better, holding her like that, and it certainly made her calmer. He was the only thing tethering her to earth to that night.

"How am I supposed to fall asleep right now?" America asked, hopelessly, feeling the grief in her chest like a heavy vice, squeezing her lungs and heart.

"I don't know, Love, but you have to try. This is all hard enough on you and the baby without adding physical exhaustion to the list." His voice was soft and gentle, his breath warm on the back of her neck.

They lay still for a few minutes, listening to the creaks and movements in the rest of the house. Someone was pacing the floor. Someone was stifling sniffles. Someone was talking, but in tones so hushed that it was impossible to understand their words.

"It's loud, your house." Maxon whispered.

"Never lonely." America agreed.

"A thousand people live and work in the Palace, but it never sounds or feels like this." Maxon said. "I would have liked this." he sounded so young, as he realized this.

"I know, honey." America said, softly. "You'd have been perfectly happy as a Five with me."

Maxon nodded into her hair, breathing in the scent of it deeply. "We'd have made quite the pair of Fives."

"I'm sorry we won't get the chance, but I'm not sorry that you're King." America said, simply. "You are everything this country needs and so much more than it deserves, and it would have been a waste of your greatness, had you been born a Five."

Maxon pulled her in tighter, brushing soothing patterns on her belly and she felt the rumble of his chest as he moaned at her words. "You always say those amazing things about me in this factual tone… like you're quoting the weather or the price of milk or some other verifiable fact." She felt his lips on her shoulder as he gave her a little nip with his teeth. "You have no idea what that does to me." he breathed.

"Stop. We're not having sex tonight." America said, twisting a little so that she could look into his face. He looked embarrassed.

"God, no." he agreed. "In this house? The whole family would hear. How did your parents ever manage to discreetly make five babies in this house?"

America smirked at his awed tone, "Funnily enough, I never asked them."

Maxon chuckled and pressed his lips to hers chastely. From the room next to them, they heard a short stifled moan. Maxon's eyes widened in surprise, "I don't think James and Kenna possess our self-restraint."

"Oh, God." America winced, pushing the pillow up so that it covered her ears.

"Good. Maybe now they'll give me more Astras to play with." Maxon nodded approvingly.

Whatever Kenna and James were getting up to, they were keeping quiet enough after that for nothing else to be heard. There was a long, heavy silence in America's room.

"How did… it happen, Maxon?" America whispered. She'd tried to speak the words using her voice, but she'd failed. She'd also wanted to ask how 'he died' but the word simply wouldn't come to her. Her brain flatly rejected it. She'd need a few days before she could start using that word again.

"The investigation will be completed by morning. We won't know anything for sure until then, and Love, worrying about it now won't change anything. For now, we need to rest."

"I can't." America sighed, but it came out as something of a whimper. "I can't… I need…" she was on the verge of tears and worked desperately to reel herself back in. If she started crying now, she had no idea when she'd ever stop. If she'd ever stop. She'd cry herself to death if she started crying now.

"What can I do, Ames?" Maxon asked, his voice tortured.

"I need this not to be happening right now." She gasped. "I can't sleep like this… I need to be in denial, I need to lie to myself, I need to tell myself that everything is fine, I need to pretend that this isn't happening—"

"Okay. Okay…" Maxon kissed her hair soothingly. "Pretending is fine. We can pretend. If it helps ease the pain, even for a minute, we'll pretend."

"Okay." America breathed.

"We'll play 'castaways'. The floor is the ocean and this bed is the boat, and we're miles and miles from people and problems." he lulled her with his words.

"…Kota is the one who taught me 'castaways'." Saying his name out loud was just about the most painful thing America had ever done, she thought. But she needed to be able to say it. If they all just stopped saying it, and no one ever said it again, he'd really, really be gone.

Maxon frowned, "I didn't realize that."

"He liked to be the boat captain, and I was his first mate…" America swallowed the knot in her throat with a monumental effort.

"We can play something else—"

"No. This. I want 'castaways'." America said. Her chest was aching so badly, she picked Maxon's hand up off of her stomach and pressed it tightly to her sternum. The pain didn't lessen, but at least now he knew where the hurt was.

"Okay." Maxon murmured, soothingly stroking her sternum with his thumb over and over. "Let's play. I'm Max, and I was in third class on the sunken ship."

"I'm Mer and I was in first class. In fact, I'm a princess." she said, weakly but with determination in her voice.

"A princess?" she could hear his forced amusement, the careful levity in his tone. He couldn't fix anything for her, but he could sure as hell distract her.

"Yes, my grandparents, the King and Queen, will be terribly worried about me."

"Are you the heir to the throne of your country, your highness?" Maxon asked.

"Obviously. I had a younger sister, but she ran away to join the circus. I am all my country has left for the future."

"I see. Well, I shall have to make sure that you return to your kingdom unscathed." Maxon kissed her shoulder twice.

"No thank you, I do not require your help, peasant. I am a world class swimmer, perfectly capable of seeing myself safely back to my kingdom." America said, the smallest hint of mischief in her voice. Illéa was a large and powerful nation, albeit young, and Maxon was its internationally respected sovereign King. The audacity of this woman, to call him 'peasant', even in the middle of their game. It never failed to make Maxon chuckle, not even on a night like this.

"Ah, but Princess, you've forgotten the sharks."

"The sharks?"

"There are sharks all over this water."

"Oh, dear. I hadn't thought of that. Suppose I use you as bait? The sharks will be too distracted eating you to give chase to me as I swim away."

"Could you swim so quickly?"

"Well, my great-grandmother was a mermaid. I can swim very quickly indeed."

Maxon laughed, "Oh, Princess, you can't offer me up to the sharks."

"Why not?"

"Because, don't you remember? I am the father of your baby." he tickled the place where her ribs ended and the baby bump began, and she squirmed with a weak little giggle.

"Oh, no! Grandfather and Grandmother will be furious. I was supposed to rule the Kingdom, unwed, for a thousand years."

"A thousand years unwed?"

"Yes, and at the end of a thousand years, that's when I was supposed to marry a handsome man and create dozens and dozens of heirs."

"What can we say, Princess? The heart wants what the heart wants."

"You sound awfully cocky."

"You're powerful and beautiful and magical, and you're carrying my baby. I'm feeling awfully cocky."

America sighed in pretend dismay, and then she yawned widely, "I suppose I'll have to marry you now."

"I'm not so sure I want to be a prince, though. I like being a peasant photographer and amateur lion tamer."

America giggled and closed her eyes, "First you learned to tame lions. And now you've tamed the heart of a powerful, beautiful, magical princess."

"I suppose our love was inevitable, then." Maxon sighed. "And I want to do right by our baby."

"The baby is a mermaid." America announced.

"Oh." Maxon laughed, surprised. "Okay. Well, I'll still love it. And one day it will take over the throne and unite the mermaid kingdoms and the human kingdoms in friendship and prosperity."

"Fine. You will come to my magical castle and meet my grandparents. My grandfather will arrange for me to meet 34 other suitors, and perhaps, at the end, I'll choose you."

"I'm certain you will." Maxon boasted. "I am much more lovable than any strange suitors your grandfather might dredge up."

"I don't know. One of them is a wealthy ghost hunter."

"He hunts wealthy ghosts?" Maxon chuckled, pressing kisses to the back of her neck.

America grinned, "Poor ghosts aren't worth his time."

"Ah." he went back to work on her neck.

"One of them is a parade organizer. He can organize enormous parades just for me."

"Sounds interesting."

"One of them is a handsome guard with sparkling green eyes and a kind soul, who wants nothing in this world but my ultimate happiness…" she paused, smirking, feeling him go rigid behind her.

"Sounds terrible."

"Really? He's very attractive—"

"He's probably a kleptomaniac."

America laughed, turning to look at him. Her eyelids felt heavy as she worked to lift them so that she could gaze into his brown orbs. The moment he saw the expression on her face, his eyes crinkled at the corners in happiness, and he pressed his lips to each of the corners of her mouth, which were upturned, just barely, with mischief.

"You don't think I should marry the kind, handsome guard—"

"No, he's definitely a criminal. And dumb, he's probably really dumb. And smelly. He probably has terribly bad breath. And I'll bet he never washes the dishes, and I'll wash the dishes every day for you. No, he sounds like too much of a risk. A criminally dumb, smelly risk. Better stick with me, Princess."

"Oh, okay." America smiled.

"Now, close your eyes." she immediately complied and he continued, "I'm going to tell you a story about my life as a photographer and amateur lion tamer. I want you to get some sleep before the big tsunami comes and washes us to shore."

"Okay." America yawned. It was hard to fall unconscious, her brain kept her right on the precipice of sleep for a long time, but to Maxon's credit, he did not stop talking even once. She was worried he might think she was asleep when she was really just a prisoner to this 'almost asleep, too weak to open her eyes or speak' phase, and then she'd be all alone with her thoughts all night. She shouldn't have worried, though. Maxon kept going until she was well and truly unconscious. She didn't dream that night, but she stayed in a black, blank sleep until after dawn. That was more than she ever could have hoped for on the night she lost her brother, and it was all thanks to Maxon.

* * *

When America first drifted awake the next morning, she didn't remember.

And then she did.

It was so much worse that way.

She wasn't quite the first one awake. Gerad was outside, kicking a ball against the side of the house, but no one else could be heard stirring. Maxon was still fast asleep, wrapped tightly around her, the events of yesterday having left him more than exhausted.

It had been years since America had awoken in her childhood home, but she found herself wanting to behave like things were the same as they had been before the Selection. She needed something to do, she couldn't just lay still, her back aching only slightly less than her heart. She carefully extracted herself from Maxon and slid into the robe Mary had left for her the night before. She padded down the stairs, past Mary asleep on the couch, and tiptoed into the kitchen.

She wanted to make breakfast.

Not just because she was hungry, although she very much was, but because when she'd lived in this house before meeting Maxon, she'd always helped with the cooking. If her mother was unavailable to cook breakfast, she'd cook breakfast. At the moment, her mother was unavailable. So she wanted to cook. This felt right to her.

There was nothing in the refrigerator. Nothing in the pantry. The house had all the furniture, but this was a stark reminder that no one really lived here. Last night had been so hectic, getting in and making sure security was in place, even as the investigation into Kota's death got underway and a team from the Palace began to liaise with local police. It was all they could do just to get to the house safely, and somehow make it to sleep. No one had given breakfast a second thought.

America poured herself a glass of cool water in the sink, downed it all, and made a plan. First thing's first, the baby was pressing on her bladder. After she took care of that issue, she'd get dressed and go to the market. She'd get everything they needed for the day, and come back, and make breakfast.

She liked this. She liked having a long list of chores.

By the time she was in her clothes, more people were awake and stumbling into the kitchen. Kenna, Magda, Aspen, and Maxon.

None of them bothered with 'good morning'. It was too absurd.

America ignored them and sat at the kitchen table writing out her shopping list.

"What are you doing, Mer?" Aspen finally asked, frowning at her.

"I'm hungry. I'm going to get something from the market to cook."

Maxon and Aspen shared a look, "You're doing what?" Maxon asked, gently.

"Going grocery shopping." America said, standing and crossing over to the countertop, opening the small doors to peek inside and see what sort of cookware was left from the last tenant. They still had a skillet, and a muffin tin. That was a good start. Muffins. Muffins would be great.

"Mer, You can't go grocery shopping."

"Yes, I can. Breakfast is my responsibility in this house." America said, firmly.

"Sweetheart—" Magda's voice sounded rough and ill-used.

"I'm cooking breakfast, Mom! No one else is taking care of it, so I'm taking care of it. I'm going to get some groceries and cook breakfast."

"America, you can't." Maxon said, sympathetically.

"Watch me."

"Mer!" Aspen pleaded. "You're the Queen of Illéa. You can't walk right into a market in the middle of Carolina on a Saturday morning and buy orange juice." The weight of this pronouncement, on top of everything else, caused America's shoulders to sag under the burden of it all, and she leant heavily on the kitchen counter to support herself as her head drooped. All she wanted was to make breakfast.

"Your Majesty?" It was Mary. Their noise had woken her up. Her voice sounded sleepy, but her words were alert. "Finish your list and I'll go. It won't take long, I'll go in the car."

America peeked up at her concerned maid. No, not this morning. This morning Mary was her concerned friend. One of her very closest friends, as a matter of fact. "I just… I want…"

"You can cook everything yourself." Mary promised. "I won't try to interfere. Please, it won't take me twenty minutes to be back with everything you need." she said, sweetly.

America finished the shopping list and took a seat between Maxon and Aspen, waiting while Mary finished getting dressed. Not five minutes later, Mary had the list and was out the door, taking a guard with her to serve as the driver as well as protection.

America rested her head on the table, the stifling silence in the kitchen nearly unbearable. Maxon's hand immediately found the back of her neck and began kneading at the tension.

"I'm really hungry." America sniffled. She couldn't stand the silence and her mind was only capable of processing one thing at a time, all of her other mental resources were being dominated by not thinking about Kota.

Her words stilled Maxon's hand immediately, and America could have kicked herself for speaking. She knew this was one of Maxon's nightmares. Her, in this old house, pregnant, hungry, and without food.

Surprisingly enough, Kenna made her first major move of the day. She didn't speak, she wasn't ready for words yet, but she stood and pressed a kiss to the top of America's head before disappearing into the bedroom. When she came back, she had a bag of cheese crackers, a small tub of applesauce, and a box of raisins.

"Astra won't mind sharing." Kenna set the food down in front of America and then returned, heavily, to her seat.

America reached out across the table, palm open, and Kenna placed her hand in America's. America squeezed gratefully, and Kenna collapsed into sobs and tears.

"Ken!" America frowned, moving to stand, but Kenna waved her away. Magda had already moved to the chair next to Kenna to take her into her arms, anyway.

"Eat. Please eat." Kenna begged through her tears, her tone apologetic.

America was frozen, she couldn't process what was happening, seeing her big sister cry like this. Maxon and Aspen shared a look, and Maxon reached over to open the bag of cheese crackers before setting them in front of America. "Eat, Ames." he instructed, and America mechanically obeyed.

While Maxon was keeping America focused, Aspen dashed into the room Kenna and James had slept in last night, what once had been May's room, and before that, Kenna's. He emerged a moment later with a very sleepy, tousled, concerned looking James who had Kenna wrapped up in his arms in a heartbeat.

They mumbled back and forth to each other, Kenna's words unrecognizable, but somehow James understood. "Aspen, are we alright to take a walk?" James asked.

"Where to?" Aspen asked.

"I was thinking the pond just past the public school?"

Aspen considered it, "Yeah, that's in the radius we've secured. Don't go farther. Stay off the main roads, the public are very curious right now. They wouldn't hurt you here, they see you as one of their own, but there would be attention."

Attention was the last thing any of them wanted.

"Got it. Thanks." James laced his fingers with Kenna's, who was desperately trying to rein in her tears. After a moment, she summoned up her strength, stood, and she and James headed out the front door.

By the time America was done with the snack generously provided on Astra's behalf, Mary was back with several brown paper bags full of groceries. She blushed furiously as Maxon, King of Illéa actually helped her carry them in from the car.

It was the most calming activity of the morning, America realized, as the others say around the table and let her make food for them. Something about being pregnant made this task fulfilling on a primal level. Gerad gave up kicking the ball when the smell of bacon wafted out to him, and even May joined them when she heard there would be pancakes involved.

Magda, Aspen, and Lucy went around to find extra chairs throughout the house, and by the time the last pancake was off the pan, the Singer kitchen table was full of family and friends in the most comforting way. Maxon and America didn't even have to sit at the head of the table like they usually did as King and Queen. Instead, America sat with Maxon's arm around her on one side, and May close to her other side with Mary facing her across the way. No one said much, but just being together like this was its own kind of tonic.

After breakfast, Mary sat America down in the living room and began doing her hair and makeup for the day. It was like donning armor. Just by looking more put together, she felt it. This time, after Mary sprayed the final strands of hair into place, she bent down and pressed a kiss to America's cheek. "Alright, your Majesty?"

"Alright." America nodded, standing. "Thank you, Mary."

"You're ready for that meeting now."

"I don't think it's possible for someone to be ready for this kind of meeting." America shook her head. "But I'm ready to face the guards and the staff." Mary nodded her agreement and squeezed her hand, before turning to begin the process of cleaning up.

America returned to the kitchen and found her mother busy washing the breakfast dishes, Kenna and James were back from the pond and eating hungrily, and Maxon, now in a full suit, straightening his tie.

"Will you do my cuffs, Love?" Maxon asked, retrieving the cuff links his father gave him for his nineteenth birthday from the small pocket at the front of his jacket.

"Why didn't you bring Justin, Max?" America asked, stepping up to him and taking the cuff links. His butler was conspicuously missing from the trip.

"I just don't need him here. Mary is more than capable of taking care of both of us, as far as the packing, unpacking, and tidying go."

"That's true."

"And anyway, I expected to be all slacks and polo shirts… this was vacation." he sighed.

America blinked, her expression dark and burdened by grief, even her arms felt heavy as she finished linking his cuffs and then straightened his tie for him. "You're ready to command the army, Maxon." she offered him her best attempt at a smile. It was nothing more than a grimace, but Maxon nodded and kissed the corner of her mouth.

"You don't have to come with me, you know. There will be photographs of what they found in Kota's studio, we'll be discussing him as if he wasn't…" Maxon paused. The past tense felt wrong. "Isn't…" No, the present tense was wrong, too. "We'll be discussing him as if he…" Another tense problem. Neither 'was' nor 'is' was going to work for Kota. Maxon tried again, "As if we're dealing with just another citizen. It won't be sensitive or kind."

"Maxon, if I'm not the Queen right now, I swear to God I don't know what I am. I need this. This, feeling like I'm in control and helping, even if I'm not… I really need this, Maxon."

"I understand. Please leave if it gets to be too much?"

America shrugged, "What would I do?" This was a big problem for her. One she kept running into in her mind. What did girls who'd just lost their older brothers do?

"Cuddle Meri?" Maxon suggested.

America nodded. It was enough of a plan to move forward with. If the meeting got to be too much, she'd leave and cuddle up with Meri.

Maxon kissed her lips one more time, then offered her his arm.

"Let's go get some answers, Love." He said, leading the way.

* * *

May had been kicked out of the garage/art studio after breakfast, so that it could be used by the Palace staff and guards as a base of operations for the investigation into Kota's death. America had always thought of that studio as being her father's domain, and it was surreal to be walking there now as the Queen.

The moment Maxon walked in, several men in guard uniforms and others dressed in suits dropped into a bow.

"Leger?" Maxon called, and Aspen stepped forward. "You've been briefed?"

"Yes, sir."

Maxon moved to a table that had been set up in the middle of the garage and bent over it to examine the photographs and documents laid out as part of the investigation. He kept America's arm wrapped tightly in his own, so she stood with him, but her eyes skimmed over the table before returning to Aspen's green, comforting, entirely familiar gaze.

"What's the first thing I need to know?" Maxon asked, and Aspen moved to the other side of the table to face Maxon.

"Sir, there is evidence of foul play." Aspen reported.

"Murder?" Maxon clarified.

"Yes, sir."

"The suspects?" Maxon asked.

"We're still investigating, but…" he frowned.

Maxon narrowed his eyes, "Leger, I would like to be in and out of this meeting as quickly as possible. The Queen is having a long enough day—"

"Maxon—" America objected, not wanting to be the cause of their rushing through, but Aspen nodded.

"Of course." he said. "I apologize. There was a suspicious item found at the crime scene, sir, we…" Aspen sighed again, and then pulled out a large printed photograph of what looked like the wooden flooring in Kota's studio and, centered in the photograph, a discarded playing card splattered in blood.

America frowned, "A king of spades?" she asked.

Maxon went rigid beside her, he even stopped breathing for a moment. "K?" Maxon asked.

"K." Aspen nodded. "I've already called the English espionage unit we've been working with, they're boarding a plane from Angeles to join us immediately. This changes things, sir."

"K might not be an abbreviated name?" Maxon asked.

Aspen nodded, "It could simply be shorthand for this 'king of spades' calling card. It's a lead, and we're going to be following it up."

"Good." Maxon said. "I want to know how in the hell he got here."

America's voice was surprisingly steady, "He's upper caste, Maxon."

"What?"

"He's upper caste."

"How can you tell?" Aspen asked.

"His vocabulary, his spelling, his punctuation and grammar… he's very well educated."

Aspen looked like he could have kicked himself for not having noticed that sooner. Having once been lower caste themselves, he and America were keenly aware of the differences between an upper and lower caste education. The English spies wouldn't have caught on to this discrepancy, being unfamiliar with the vast differences between Illéan castes. It occurred to America that this really was the first time any of them had noticed this about K.

Maxon squeezed her hand appreciatively. "Well done, Love."

America nodded and mumbled a "Thanks."

"We'll continue pursuing K from here. If he flew in to Carolina just for this trip, we can discuss with airport authorities and check the travel permits of everyone flying into Carolina in the last week, that should really help our search for K." Aspen reported. "This is very good news for our investigation into the rebels."

"So Kota may have helped save the monarchy?" America asked, amused in the most hollow way. "If these clues lead you to K, and you can stop K from burning the Kingdom to the ground?"

"I'm sure he'd be glad to have helped." Aspen said, and America snorted derisively.

"No, he wouldn't. He'd be furious. He'd be whining and complaining about the unfairness of it all, about how he died, and something good came of it for the rest of us."

"Ames." Maxon whispered soothingly in her ear. She was making a spectacle of herself, which was fine, but maybe not what she wanted in the long run.

She frowned over the photographs on the table before them, rapidly changing the subject, "What is that?" she asked, pointing to the picture nearest Aspen.

Aspen gulped. "Um…"

America turned to the man standing next to Aspen, a member of the local Carolina police. "What is that a picture of?"

"The body, ma'am." The policeman informed her, looking reluctant and uncomfortable.

"…My brother's body?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"I don't understand. That doesn't look like a body part—"

"Those are his hands, ma'am." the policeman said.

America didn't understand. Were they looking at the same picture? What she saw looked more like minced meat—

"Ames." Maxon said. "You should go—"

"No. Why do you… those are not his hands, sir."

"Mer, they tortured him." Aspen said, pity all over his tone of voice. "Whoever it was, they tortured him."

"No." America insisted. "K wouldn't torture him, K doesn't torture. Remember? K doesn't take captives or stand around talking about why he's so evil, K just kills people. He just kills them and then they're... gone. K wouldn't do that to Kota's hands."

"We think…" Aspen sighed heavily, rubbing his eyes hard. This was not the day he wanted to be having. "We think they wanted to play with him first. Show him that his life was over before taking it. Make sure he knew he'd never sculpt again, kill his dreams before killing him…"

"Why?" America asked, the only tension in her body manifesting, for some reason, in her jaw.

Aspen shook his head, "You can't do that, Mer, you can't try to make reason out of the acts of a mad man. There is no reason. There is no 'why'."

"There has to be a reason." she insisted.

"There isn't." Aspen shook his head sorrowfully.

"We wronged him, he's angry at the north, we did something to him, to his family. His brother, maybe, that's why he went after mine—" Even she could hear the desperation in her tone.

"Turn around for a moment." Maxon commanded the room in his King voice, and without question, every person in the studio turned on their heel to face the other direction, away from Maxon and America. Maxon placed a hand on each of America's shoulders and then bent a little to look her in the eye. He whispered so softly, "Are you alright?"

America shook her head. No, of course she wasn't.

"Are you ready for Meri?"

"I want to stay." she insisted.

Maxon's eyes dropped to her belly, considering her. Then he nodded, "Okay. Just a little longer, and then I want you back with the family."

America nodded, wide-eyed, but she leant in for the reassuring kiss he offered her, and savored every moment of it.

Maxon turned back to the table and seized her hand again before calling the room to attention. They all turned back around like nothing had happened.

A man who America recognized as being one of Maxon's assistant advisers stepped forward, "Sir, Stavros has an update for you."

"Good." Maxon said. The man handed Maxon the portable telephone and Maxon hit a button. Suddenly, everything Stavros said was audible to the room. "Stavros, you have news for us?"

"Good morning, your Majesty. Just a few updates. The espionage contingent was wheels up as of twenty minutes ago."

"Good."

"Gavril has already drafted the statement for the royal family regarding the death of Kota Singer."

"It's good?"

"It's perfect."

"Good. Release it."

"Your public engagements in Carolina have been canceled."

"All of them?"

"All of them." Stavros' voice confirmed. "Silvia has remotely assembled everything necessary for the funeral."

America spoke up, spurred on by the name of her friend and closest assistant. "I'm sorry, Stavros?"

"Your Majesty?" Stavros' voice asked.

"How did she do that?"

"She has telephoned everyone necessary and arranged for their services to be available to you for tomorrow, Ma'am. Flowers, coffins—"

"So she threw a funeral together from across the country at a moment's notice?"

"She is the best." Stavros reminded her.

"What do I need to do?"

There was the sound of shuffling papers on the other end of the line and then Stavros said, "She has several options lined up for caterers, as well as ministers to administer final rites—"

"And if I say that I trust her implicitly and don't want to deal with any of that?" America asked.

"Then Silvia will finalize arrangements and you won't need to do anything but go where the guards tell you to go tomorrow."

"That. That's what I want." America said, mildly pleased. So she was capable of still wanting things in this world.

"Very well, your Majesty, I will let her know."

"Thank you, Stavros." America said, and she was surprised at how much that little conversation had drained her.

"Stavros, I want arrangements to be made for our early return to Angeles." Maxon said. They were supposed to be staying for four days, but with K in town, it made sense that Maxon wanted to get everyone back inside Palace walls before long. "Tomorrow night, after the funeral. We'll redeye back to Angeles?"

"I'll see to it that the arrangements are made."

"Good, and when we land, I'll want a full meeting with updated intel."

"Not before?" Stavros asked, surprised. In a situation with a credible, immediate threat, Maxon would usually be updated several times a day.

"No. I have family matters to concern myself with." Maxon said, simply.

"Of course, sir."

"Is that everything you have for me, Stavros?"

"That's all. Our deepest condolences, your Majesties."

"Thank you." Maxon squeezed America's hand and then ended the call.

"Sir…" One of Maxon's entourage said, trying to be delicate. "We need to talk about time-of-death as it relates to the threat against your family."

"How does it relate?" America asked.

"We believe Kota Singer was killed one to three hours before the car was sent to his studio to deliver him to the airport." Another man said. Who were these strangers? She hated having them in her home. In her father's studio.

Maxon turned to Aspen, "What does that indicate?" Apparently, he didn't want to deal with non-family members, either.

"The investigation is ongoing." Aspen assured them. "But we suspect this was another near-miss. That K's information in Carolina wasn't as good as it is in Angeles, and he'd been hoping to find the Queen and royal family with Kota already. When he realized you hadn't landed yet, he cut his losses, killed the witness, and left you a calling card."

Killed the witness.

Killed Kota.

Killed her big brother.

Killed the boy who taught her how to climb a tree.

Killed the boy who bought her a special, secret blue frosted cupcake for her 8th birthday and she'd gotten to eat it all herself, before dinner even started.

Killed the boy who had been so happy to finally have a brother that he cried the day Gerad was born.

"Ames?" Maxon asked. America blinked. Had he been trying to get her attention?

"What?" America asked, realizing that she'd zoned out.

"Go back inside, Love, we're going to be getting into forensic details now. You don't need to know about the rope fibers found on Kota's wrists." Maxon said.

"I want to help." America said.

"You already have." Maxon assured her, turning and leading her to the door. "I love you." he said, when they were outside, away from the intruders in the studio.

"I love you, too."

"I won't be long. Fifteen more minutes." he said. "And then you should show me around your hometown."

America nodded, "Okay." she paused, looking between the house and the studio. Could she really go back in there?

Maxon pressed a kiss to her shoulder, "Meri, sweetheart. Go play with our godchild."

She was on some kind of autopilot. She could feel her feet walking, carrying her towards the baby, but she was not in control of the situation.

In fact, she was not in control of anything. If being Queen meant having control, then Kota would be alive and K would be the dead one.

Dead.

There. She'd done it.

She'd finally managed to think that word.


	40. Chapter 40

"Are you ready, Love?" Maxon asked, one hand laced through America's, and in his other, a bouquet of yellow flowers.

"I think so." America said. She took a deep breath and then started walking.

"This is a beautiful place." Maxon admired, taking in the green, lush scenery around them. It rained much more in Carolina than in Angeles, and as a result everything in nature looked more vivid, more eye-catching. It seemed so counterintuitive that the world was this beautiful in the midst of such sorrow, and Maxon knew it was probably wasted on the Singer family whose entire beings were preoccupied with grief, but Maxon was soaking in as much of Carolina as he could. This was Ames' place, and he loved it.

"Yeah." America agreed, with a bittersweet smile. "It's got a nice view of the stars at night, and a low enough horizon line to get a good sunset. It's out of town, but not so far that there aren't any people around…"

"Your Mom picked it out?" Maxon asked.

"Yeah." She swung their joined hands between them for a moment, looking around. "As Fives, there were only two cemeteries we could choose from, and this one was closer to the house. James and Kenna used to live about five minutes away from here."

"I'm sure your father would have loved it."

America shrugged. "He probably would have liked still being alive even more." Maxon just nodded.

America followed the path with Maxon at her side, and today more than most days she felt like he was her actual other half. It was probably just that she was emotionally leaning on him so much right now, but earlier when she'd left the briefing about Kota's death to return to the house without Maxon, she felt just as lost and hobbled as she would have been without her right leg. She'd sat on the couch between Lucy and Mary and held a sleeping baby Meri tightly to her chest until Maxon returned.

"Why these flowers?" Maxon asked, breaking the pensive silence. "The yellow? These aren't really mourning flowers."

"When I was... about nine or ten years old, Daddy painted a vase full of those flowers. It was a commissioned piece, I think, he didn't do still life portraits very often. The way he captured the light, the shades of yellow on the petals, the shadows on the table... it was amazing. I knew I'd never be able to paint like that, but in a way it made me happy. I didn't have to worry about the day I would finally surpass him. He'd always be amazing to me. Maybe that was Kota's problem, feeling like he'd surpassed Dad in every way... I don't know. I don't know what his problem was."

Maxon was watching her carefully. Every time she spoke Kota's name aloud, it was like a white hot poker stabbing her chest. She had to be careful how many times she used it in one day, or she'd have a breakdown and start crying and probably never ever stop.

"He was proud of you, Ames." Maxon reminded her, gently. "Your brother was proud of you." So he had noticed that Kota's name was giving her trouble. Maybe he could see it on her face or in her eyes. For all she knew, she winced every time she said it, she wasn't really aware of much at the moment.

"How do you know?"

"That letter he sent, inviting us out here."

America rolled her eyes at the memory, "The one where he called me a whore and said he thought Illéa was better off with the caste system?"

Maxon shrugged, "His whole life was devoted to the caste system. To working his way up it. Of course he would have been devoted to it."

"We're here." America said, sharply, cutting off this avenue of conversation. She wasn't ready to try to understand Kota. Right now, her lack of understanding was acting like a barrier to the grief, helping keep it from overwhelming her. If she understood him, then she'd forgive him. She wouldn't be angry at him anymore, and the anger was helping her wade through the sorrow. Without the anger, she'd be drowning.

Maxon dropped her hand and moved in, wrapping an arm around her waist. Just off of the sidewalk they'd been meandering down, amongst rows and rows of gravestones, they found the one they were looking for.

_Shalom Singer_

_Five_

"It seems so simple. Too simple for him." America said. This was the first time she was seeing it, too. The stones were never ready in time for the funerals, a placeholder plaque marked the graves until the stones were ready a couple of days later. By the time her father's had been ready, America was back in Angeles and very busy getting proposed to by Maxon and shot at by rebels.

"He would have liked the simplicity." Maxon said. "He wouldn't have wanted a big fuss."

"I know. I just mean that it's inadequate. It's not enough to summarize... my Daddy. There should be books and books. Now he's just a name and a caste." she used Maxon's arm to help keep her balance as she knelt down on her knees in the soft grass before his gravestone, carefully removing the little vine-type weeds that were creeping in around the edges of the stone.

"That's not true, Love." Maxon reminded her. "He's more than just a name and a caste. He shaped you into who you are, and you are shaping all of Illéa in turn. He's everywhere, in everything you do. This just marks the place they put him, not who he was."

America reached up for Maxon's hand and squeezed it tightly when he gave it to her. "Thank you, Maxon." she managed.

The guards on their detail were keeping a wide berth, giving them plenty of space to themselves, but from the corner of her eye, America saw one take off running across the cemetery and a quick glance in the direction he was running revealed a man holding a camera aimed at America and Maxon.

Maxon frowned heavily at this, "Seriously? They couldn't even let you visit your father's grave in peace?"

They watched as the photographer's camera was seized by the guard, the photographs deleted, and the photographer escorted off of the property.

"We need to talk to Gavril this evening." America said.

"Why?"

"The funeral tomorrow should be photographed. I think he would have liked that."

"Ames... I don't know." Maxon frowned, kneeling down next to her. "I don't want you to feel like you have to look a certain way during the ceremony. It shouldn't be a performance, Love."

"We'll just discuss it. Gavril might have some ideas."

"Alright." Maxon handed her the flowers. "Here. Do you want to arrange them a certain way?"

"I do." America said, removing the paper cone that the flowers were wrapped in. "When I was very young, around Astra's age, Kenna taught me to make flower crowns and in the spring I'd go wildflower crazy. I used to shower my Dad in flower crowns and he'd wear every single one."

Maxon smiled at this, "What a good father."

"Reminds me of someone else I know." America smiled at Maxon as her fingers began the automatic twisting and twirling of stems to create the crown. "You would have worn that paper crown Astra made you forever."

He grinned sheepishly and ran a hand through his hair. "Probably." he agreed. Maxon sat down on the ground and crossed his legs in front of him, studying her hands as they twined the stems, entranced. "Has the baby been kicking much?"

"Pretty still today. I think it's sleeping. It'll start beating me up tonight when it's my turn to sleep."

"Cruel baby." Maxon chuckled.

"Quite the dictator." America agreed.

"Do you think it's a boy or a girl?" Maxon asked.

America looked up at him, surprised he would ask. "I have no idea."

"What do you think of 'Lief'? For a boy?"

"Lief?" America asked. "Prince Lief Schreave..."

"King Lief of Illéa..." Maxon tried. Then he leant forward and traced the carving of her father's name on the slab of stone. "Lief Shalom Schreave?"

America felt tears spring to her eyes, and she found herself smiling, much to her surprise. "Wow. I really like that. We'll add it to the list."

"At some point we should write down our list." Maxon smiled, lifting his hand from Shalom's name and tracing the word 'Lief' on America's arm with his finger instead, as her hands busily twisted away at the flowers.

"I know. There's time." America said, smiling softly.

Maxon left her arm alone and went back to tracing 'Shalom' over and over on the stone as he brainstormed other name ideas. Eventually, his hand drifted down, absentmindedly, and he began tracing the Five.

When America noticed, she sighed heavily, eyeing his hand. "That might be the worst part of all of this." she said, and Maxon looked over at her, curiously.

"What is?"

"...Kota. His whole life he worked toward a different caste. He never wanted a 'Five' on his gravestone. And now, because some assassin was coming after _me_, he's stuck with it forever."

Maxon frowned at this, unhappily. "What should the stone say instead?"

"I don't know. I don't know exactly what he would have wanted. It's all so confusing, Maxon. With my father, I knew him so well. I knew what he would have wanted. He would have wanted me to be happy and to marry you and... I know if he was here now, he'd be ecstatic about this baby and the dissolution of the castes... With my brother, it's not so simple. I have no idea what he would want, if he'd really want us to be happy or-"

"Of course he would!"

"Would he? He never went out of his way to make us happy."

"Yes he did. He played 'castaways' with you, remember?"

"That was to make _him_ happy."

"It might have been a combination of both." Maxon said. "He did a lot of good things for you over the years. He never wanted you to be unhappy-"

"Except when he was threatening to expose my past relationship with Aspen-"

"That was different, Ames, you were all going through a really hard time-"

"Whatever." America said, not ready for Maxon to say some magical sentence to make her forgive her brother, the way only Maxon could. She needed to be mad.

Maxon sighed and ran a hand through his hair, "I'm serious, Ames. What should the stone say?"

"I don't know. 'Kota Singer, selfish brat'. 'Kota Singer, stupid idiot'. 'Kota Singer, terrible brother'." She had to stop herself there. She was already choking down sobs at having said his name so many times in a row.

Maxon noticed and rubbed her back soothingly with one hand. With his other, he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his encrypted mobile telephone. He flipped it open, hit a few buttons, and then held it up to his ear. A moment later he said, "Stavros? Royal decree... Castes are no longer required to adorn headstones. Instead, families may choose to have the deceased's occupation inscribed beneath their name. ...Yes. Effective immediately. Thank you." And then he hung up.

America gaped at him. "What did you just do?"

"It was going to happen eventually with the caste dissolution. I just fast tracked this element." Maxon shrugged. "'Kota Singer, Sculptor'. He'd have liked that, I know he would have."

America set the half-finished flower crown down before her, and then leant over and wrapped Maxon in a warm embrace. "Thank you." she whispered.

"And as for your father, we could replace his. 'Shalom Singer, Painter'. That sounds nice, doesn't it?"

America just clung to him, endlessly grateful for this man. "Very nice." she finally agreed.

* * *

That night, after America finished brushing her teeth, she walked into her childhood bedroom to find Maxon scowling at her windowpane.

"Maxon?" America smiled at his expression.

"What is that?" He pointed at it, animosity in his voice.

"What?"

"That." he whined. America walked forward and, for the first time in days, openly laughed with her whole body. There was a note on her window in Aspen's incredibly familiar handwriting. All it said was 'Treehouse. Midnight'.

"Looks like I have a date." America said.

"No. You can't go out there at midnight."

"Why not?"

"Curfew!" Maxon reminded her.

"I'm the Queen, the curfew doesn't apply to me."

"Well, the baby then. The baby needs you to sleep, not sneak off on dates with guards at all hours of the night." Maxon insisted.

America smiled and placed a hand on his cheek affectionately, "Do you think he's going to steal me back?"

"... … No."

"No." America agreed. "Honestly, it'll be nice to sneak out to the treehouse with him. Something normal, nostalgic even. I'm glad he thought of this."

"He's fired."

"He's _not_ fired." America laughed.

"He's going to New Asia."

"Why?"

"... Because."

"Maxon." America reproached.

He sighed and rolled his eyes heavenward. "Fine. Go on your dumb treehouse date, then. What do I care? I'll just call Kriss and see what she's up to."

"Probably sleeping, at this hour." America grinned. It was already 11:30.

Maxon took a deep breath and wrapped her up in his arms. "Why does this happen to me? I'm friends with Aspen. I'm the godfather of his child, for heaven's sake. I know better."

"I don't mind, Maxon. I think it's kind of cute." She reassured him.

"It doesn't feel cute."

There was a quick, light knock low on their door and then the handle jiggled for a moment as though the person on the other side was struggling to twist the knob, then the door popped open revealing Astra on the other side, her stuffed animal wrapped in one arm, her other hand stretched high and wide to grasp the door knob.

"What are you doing out of bed, Pumpkin head?" Maxon asked, releasing America and scooping Astra up from the floor.

"I havin' bad dreams, Mackin." She said, sadly. On closer inspection, America noticed a couple of wet lines on the girl's cheeks where tears had clearly fallen.

"Where's your Mommy and Daddy?"

She shrugged.

"I think they're still in the living room, Max." America said, meeting his eyes importantly. Somewhere around dinner time, Kenna finally found her words again, and now that she was talking, she couldn't make herself stop. She was getting it all out, purging herself, and James was right there to listen. America was a little jealous. Her sister would have this grief leached out of her like the poison it was by these words, and she'd begin healing very soon. Sooner than any of the rest of them.

Maxon nodded, understanding what America was telling him. "Well, I know what to do about bad dreams. My favorite little Pumpkin head taught me." and then he peppered Astra's damp, soft cheeks with loud, exaggerated kisses until she finally cracked a smile and giggled. "Do you want to have a sleepover with Aunt Ames and me?" Maxon offered, pulling back to look into her wide, round eyes.

"And the baby?" Astra asked, hopefully, still unable to understand that the baby couldn't be separated from America.

"And the baby." Maxon nodded.

"Yes, please." Astra decided.

"Do you know what always helps _me_ sleep after bad dreams?" Maxon asked, and Astra shook her head before laying it on his shoulder. "Warm milk with honey. My mommy used to bring that to me when I was your size and I couldn't sleep. Shall we go make some now?"

Astra nodded her head without removing it from his shoulder. "Okay."

"We'll be right back." Maxon said to America. "Would you like some?"

"Make some extra for yourself and I'll sip a little." America said, quickly kissing him, then kissing Astra on the cheek.

Maxon carefully carried Astra off to the kitchen and America slowly sank down on her childhood bed. This hadn't been the longest day of her life, but it had been close. As nice as it was to show Maxon her home and the town she'd grown up in, she couldn't wait to get back to the Palace. To be in her element again, to have Silvia waiting at her desk with a pot of tea and a sizable to-do list.

It didn't take long for Maxon to return with Astra on his hip and a large mug of warm milk in his hand. "No kid cups." he explained to America's questioning gaze, "So we're all sharing."

"How is it, Astra?" America asked.

"Good." Astra reported, placing her free hand on the mug to tilt it toward her face. At her prompting, Maxon carefully lifted the ceramic mug up to her lips and tilted it so that she could get a large gulp. "I like it." Astra added, licking at her milk mustache. Then she pressed the mug towards Maxon so that he could take a sip, whether he wanted to or not.

"Thank you, Astra." He laughed, having a quick sip and then bringing her over to the bed. He set her down and then handed the mug to America.

The milk was warm and sweet on her tongue, soothing and creamy all the way down her throat. "Wow, Maxon."

"Mother's secret recipe." he boasted.

America smiled at the thought of Amberly teaching Maxon a secret recipe. "So it's not just milk and honey?"

"Dash of cinnamon." Maxon shrugged. "The secret is all in the proportions. I'll show you sometime."

"More please." Astra announced, and America scooted over and held the cup up for the girl to drink from.

"Did we eat all of the apples Mary bought?" America asked.

"I think there are a few left." Maxon said. "Why?"

"The baby wants apples and peanut butter." America sighed. This craving wasn't as intense as some of her others, but she knew she'd never get to sleep without properly sating it.

"Aspen was in the kitchen gathering some snacks when we were making our milk." Maxon said. "I think he's planning to make this a _dinner date_."

"Just like old times." America smiled. "Only this time, he gets to bring the food to me, like he always wished he could."

Maxon's bottom lip poked out just a little. "Yeah, but it's _my_ food. _I'm_ the one who paid for it." He sipped disconsolately from the milk.

America just shook her head at him and then pressed a kiss to his frown. "On that note, I'm going. I don't think we'll be longer than half an hour, but even if we are, I'll be with the best guard in the Palace."

"Where you goin?" Astra asked, realizing America was standing up to leave.

"She's abandoning us for another man." Maxon said, sliding down to lay next to Astra.

"What?" Astra asked, high pitched and frightened. She didn't exactly understand what Maxon had just said, but she definitely didn't want America to leave forever, and that was the impression she had clearly been given.

America glared at Maxon for confusing that baby girl and then said, "I'm just going to play with Aspen in the tree house. I'll be back soon."

"I want to play." Astra objected.

"Yeah," Maxon nodded, "_We_ want to play. We should _all _go to the tree house."

"In the morning, if there's time before church." America told them, brushing a hand through Astra's strawberry hair. Then she crossed over to the window and lifted it wide open.

"What you doin?" Astra asked, alarmed.

"Going out the window. It's faster this way." America winked at her.

"Be careful, Ames." Maxon said, seriously.

"It's only three feet to the ground, Maxon." she reminded him, easing herself up and onto the threshold. "Of all the things we have to worry about, me stumbling out this window and bouncing three feet to the ground shouldn't even rank."

"Just promise?" he asked.

"I promise." she replied, because she knew it would make him feel better, and then she carefully slid out the window, slowly so as to keep her balance while managing her baby bump. When America looked back, Astra was curled up on Maxon's chest looking out at America like she'd never seen anything so weird but also fascinating in all of her three-and-a-half years of life, and Maxon was smiling just a little as he rubbed Astra's back soothingly. As irrationally jealous as this made him feel, he couldn't help but also feel like he was getting a brand new piece of America by actually getting to watch her on a midnight tryst with Aspen.

America waved and then turned and looked around the backyard fondly, thinking of all the times she'd beaten the path to the treehouse at a sprint to keep from being seen. Halfway to the planks that her father had carefully nailed into the tree's trunk all those years ago, she heard the back door of her house open and close and saw Aspen come out, still in uniform from the long day, with a borrowed messenger bag hanging from his shoulder.

"Hey there, gorgeous." he said with a very familiar sly grin.

"You didn't want to be waiting for me up in the treehouse?" she asked, reaching out and taking his hand as he caught up to her.

"Nah, you're going to climb up first so that I can catch you if you fall."

"Do you have any idea how many times I've climbed up these planks in the middle of the night?"

"Yes, I have a good idea." He smirked.

"Then why does everyone keep assuming I'm just going to slip and fall all over the place?"

"Could be because you're America Singer, and you can somehow manage to slip and fall just about anywhere you put your mind to it." he teased.

"Shut up." she rolled her eyes, and just to show him how capable she was of climbing, she launched herself up the planks to the treehouse with the same vigor she'd seen guards exert during their obstacle course training.

Aspen just shook his head, chuckling, and then followed her up once she was securely in the treehouse.

He handed her the candles and a match, and he set to laying out the snacks he'd brought. Cold chicken, apples, a sweet roll, some chocolate dipped in peanut butter, and two glass bottles of iced tea. America smiled at the spread as she set the lit candles aside and blew out the match.

"This is perfect, Aspen."

"I didn't know if you'd be hungry." he said, sheepishly.

"Oh, I'm always hungry."

"That's what I remember from Lucy." he grinned. "Actually, come to think of it, that's what I remember about you from before you were even pregnant." She didn't dignify his teasing with a response other than to shake her head and grin.

"How is Lucy? How's she adjusting to motherhood?"

"She's a natural, Ames." he bragged, his eyes lighting up as he talked about his wife. "And it's so great, having our families with us. If she starts to feel a little overwhelmed, my mom or her dad is always right there to lend a hand. Lucy and I have even gotten a couple of date nights out of them. And, of course, Kamber and Celia dote on that baby, I don't think Meri will ever want for anything."

"Not if Maxon and I can help it." America grinned.

Aspen nodded and then picked off a bite of chicken. He was clearly working up to something as he chewed, so America waited until he was done. When he was ready, he lifted those gorgeous green eyes of his up to her and said, "I just wanted to check on you. That's what the treehouse is about. It's sometimes hard to get a moment alone with you, even harder than when you were in the Selection… especially here, with everyone piled into your old house. I think I qualify as your oldest friend, Mer, and I want you to know that I'm here…"

America stared very hard at the wooden floor beneath them and chewed the apple slice she'd dipped in peanut butter and chocolate as she considered how she'd respond. If she could even respond.

"Thanks." she finally managed, and then she took a long drink of tea.

"Talk to me, Mer. Are you alright?"

"Of course I'm not alright." she said. "Who could possibly be alright right now?"

"No one." Aspen agreed.

"I'm not ready to talk about it, Aspen." America finally said. "I couldn't get the words out of my mouth, even if I could organize them in my head. I need time."

"Okay." he nodded. "That's normal. You take all the time you need. But when you're ready, if you need someone to talk to… someone who knew him, but didn't love him like your mom or your siblings… you know where to find me."

"Yeah, I do."

"That's what I needed to know." he said, reassured. "That if you need me, you'll come find me."

The two of them continued eating, working their way through the midnight snack in a silence so comfortable that America almost ached. What had she ever done to deserve a friend like Aspen? After everything she put him through during the Selection? It was unfair in a way that actually worked in her favor, and she knew that she would _never_ take it for granted.

Aspen gathered their trash and put it in the messenger back, then set the bag in the corner of the treehouse and laid back, looking up at the stars above them. "That's a view I've missed." he grinned.

America followed his gaze up to the old skylight her father had built into the roof of the treehouse and then sighed, "Daddy and his stars. In retrospect, it should have been so obvious that he was a rebel." A thousand galaxies worth of stars twinkled merrily above them, and America laid back so that she could peer up at them, too.

Aspen wrapped an arm around her to cushion her head and joked,"You think the skylight was the biggest clue? Not naming his baby 'America' the second your mother gave him the chance?"

America giggled, "They always made it sound like I named myself by how much kicking and fighting I did before I was even born."

"Is that one the same way?" Aspen asked, glancing down at the roundness of her stomach.

"Not really. This one feels like Maxon's kid, you know? It almost seems like it kicks and moves out of curiosity more than natural instinct. I'm sure I was kicking and moving all the time just to be obstinate."

"Yeah, that sounds like you." he laughed.

They fell into another easy silence, staring up at the stars above them. It was the most relaxed America had been since coming back to Carolina. "We should set Jemmy and Gerad up on some playdates." America mused out loud.

"Yeah?"

"Gerad needs to spend time with actual kids. He told me a few weeks ago that he wants to be a guard when he grows up because he likes going running with the guards during training, and he thinks it would be fun."

"Fun isn't really the word I would use to describe it." Aspen frowned. "Engaging, though, that's for sure." He considered this for a moment, "Ger would make an excellent guard, Mer, he's got that instinct to protect and he's such an athletic kid. I think, by the time he's ready to enlist—"

"No, he's not enlisting in anything. He's going to grow up and become a—"

"A what?"

"A… pillow… fort… inspector." She tried, grasping for the safest job she could possibly imagine.

Aspen laughed, "That's not a thing, Mer."

"I'm the Queen, I'll make it a thing and it'll be his job."

Aspen sighed, but his tone remained amused, "You know that won't work, right?"

"Yeah." she frowned.

"But now that you've told me, I'll keep an eye out for him. If he really wants to be a guard someday, I'll make sure he's gotten the best training in the world. And we'll make him go to college first."

"College?" America asked, surprised. College wasn't viewed as a requirement in Illéa, it was mostly just used as a status symbol amongst the upper castes.

"Sure. He'll get a better sense of the world that way, he'll have more of an idea of whether guarding is really what he wants to do once he's studied other things. Maybe he'll find something he likes more. Maybe he'll meet a pretty girl and decide he'd rather live with her in Bellingham. But if he does decide to guard, it will be a well-informed decision and he'll be well-prepared for it."

America exhaled deeply, a breath of relief. "Yeah. Okay. That actually sounds good."

"Plus, I think once we get this K situation under control, guarding won't be nearly as dangerous as it was when you and I first got to the Palace. Without southern rebels to fight, the job of a Palace guard is pretty mundane." Aspen promised.

But now he'd brought up K, and the whole atmosphere in the treehouse changed.

America frowned, "What's happening with the investigation, Aspen?"

"The English contingent went straight from the airport to Kota's studio." Aspen said. "They've already got a few leads, and local police are helping a lot."

"Do you think you'll catch him this time?" she asked.

Aspen peered over at her and then shrugged, and America's head bobbed up and down from its perch in the crook of his arm. "Every time he reveals himself, he leaves us more clues." Aspen said. "This time, it wasn't just that he left that card. It's the bravado of it all, the ego required to give himself a nickname like the 'King of Spades'… I like ego. Ego leads to mistakes. His obsession with you and Maxon goes beyond the agenda of the rest of the southern rebels, according to our spies in the ranks. We're going to find him, Mer. I know we are. I can just feel it. I've been known to have pretty good instincts when it comes to guarding." he added, in a boastful tone that was supposed to help lighten the mood.

America ignored it, "Why is he so obsessed with us, though, Aspen? What did we do to him?"

"I think you're looking too hard into it, America, he's deranged."

"But he could be deranged and obsessed with anyone, why us?"

"You're the King and Queen?" Aspen offered. "I wouldn't spend too much time trying to reason out K's agenda. He's unreasonable, you can't reason with him, reason has no place in the conversation."

America was about to reply when there was a loud but gentle thud against the side of the treehouse that faced the Singer house. "What was that?" America asked, struggling to sit up. By the time Aspen had sat up and helped her upright as well, another thud hit just like the last one.

Aspen crawled over and peeked out the window to make sure there was no danger, then laughed and dodged, just as a pinecone went sailing by him, narrowly missing his face and landing instead on the floor next to America.

Aspen and America shared a look and somehow America just knew. "My husband?" she asked with a laugh.

"None other." Aspen nodded.

America crawled over to the window and peered down to the yard below. Maxon stood on the grass beneath the tree, Astra laughing on his hip, and Lucy far behind him, closer to the backdoor of the Singer house.

"What are you doing?" America asked.

"It's been more than thirty minutes, come back!" Maxon called.

"We're still talking." America replied.

Maxon shook his head and then said, "Get me another one, Astra." And he held the giggling girl by her thighs and chest, hovering her over the ground and moving her around until she found another pinecone that she held up for him to take. He straightened her back up in his arms, took the pinecone into his hand, and then lobbed it at America, missing spectacularly as the pinecone hit a nearby branch and then bounced, futile, to the ground.

Aspen joined her at the window and grinned down at the display before looking at his wife questioningly.

"I'm so sorry!" Lucy called across the yard. "He was very insistent that I join him, and he _is _the King. I tried to talk him out of it, but he wouldn't listen."

"If you don't come down here now, Lucy and I are coming up there and dragging you down!" Maxon threatened. "Astra and I are sleepy and we need our America with us as we fall asleep, and we're going to continue to be grouchy until we get her!"

Lucy just shrugged helplessly.

Aspen turned to America, "I think we're out of time." he said, softly

"I agree. He's probably right, we do have the funeral tomorrow. We should get some rest."

Aspen nodded his agreement and Maxon yelled, "Leger!"

"Yes, Sir?" Aspen laughed in reply.

"Bring my wife down here to me immediately!"

"That was an official order. We are definitely out of time." Aspen sighed, leaning over and grabbing the messenger bag of trash. America blew out the candles, continuing a steady stream of air for a few seconds after the flame went out until the wax re-solidified, and then she handed them to Aspen to be put back in the bag.

Aspen was the first one to climb down, and then he stood at the bottom with Maxon right at his side, as America negotiated her own way down. If he hadn't been holding Astra in his arms, Maxon would have insisted on being the one to stand by and catch her if she fell, but since he was preoccupied, he contented himself with glaring menacingly at Aspen and overseeing America's descent hawkishly.

Once America's feet were firmly on the ground, Maxon nodded between the two of them. "Good. Now where's the chainsaw, I need to tear this thing down."

"Stop it." America said, jabbing his chest with her finger and then turning and leading the way back inside the Singer house.

"I'm serious, Ames!" Maxon said, which was true. The jealous part of him really did want to chop that treehouse down, America knew it.

Unable to stand it any longer, America rounded on him and, with the force of her momentum, leant right in for a hard, deep, possessive kiss. The kind of kiss that marked him as her territory and made it clear that she was his, too. Aspen blushed furiously at the sight of this and then hurried over to Lucy, grabbing her hand and following her into the house.

Astra, still on Maxon's hip, wasn't sure what to do after a few long moments of an eye-level view of this kiss. Finally, tired of being left out, she leant in and pressed her lips to Maxon's cheek.

Maxon's lips spread into a wide smile at this, though he restrained himself from laughing in America's mouth. America pulled back and grinned, seeing that all traces of jealousy were gone from his features, and now only amusement and love remained.

"I chose you." America reminded him.

"Yes, you did." he agreed.

"Be as jealous as you want, Maxon, that part doesn't really bother me. It only bothers me if it hurts you."

"It doesn't hurt me." he promised. "It hasn't hurt for a long, long time. He's my best friend and you're my wife, I trust you both implicitly." He reassured her.

"Good." America said, taking his free hand as they walked back toward the house.

"But, come on, Ames… you were gone with him for forty-five whole minutes! I can share you for half an hour, sure, but after that it becomes unreasonable, don't you think?"

"Unreasonable, says the man lobbing pinecones at a treehouse at 12:45 in the morning?" America laughed.

"It worked." he muttered, closing the backdoor behind them as the reentered the Singer house.

"Hey, Mackin?" Astra asked.

"What is it, Pumpkin?" Maxon said, softly, following America down the hall to her room.

"I gettin a bedtime story?" she asked, hopefully.

"Sure, I can tell you a bedtime story! I'll tell you the story of a handsome prince who rescued the princess from an evil, green-eyed palace guard's secret treehouse dungeon lair." he cast a pointed look at America, who just poked her tongue out at him.

"No!" Astra exclaimed, horrified at the thought. "I want one about ponies."

Maxon nuzzled her cheek with his nose and then dropped her into America's bed from high enough that she bounced softly as she fell down, laughing. "Alright, I can tell you one about ponies." he agreed, and they all piled into bed for the night.

It struck America, as she lay there listening to Maxon tell Astra a story that he was making up as he went along, about a pony on a quest to join a band of pirates and travel the seas in search of treasure and cupcakes, that this was exactly the life she wanted for her children. Too many people piled into one bed, listening to silly bedtime stories, the floor creaking every time Grandma or an aunt or uncle goes tiptoeing by. There was so much love and, even in the face of all of this grief, happiness.

America had been so afraid that she'd never be able to give her children this very experience, because Palace life was so different, but looking over at her husband, diligently enthralling that little girl with tales of baby horses and grand adventures, America realized that the size and grandeur of the house was irrelevant. It wasn't that America wanted to give her kids the experience of lumpy mattresses or creaky floorboards, she wanted to give them love, security, and closeness. And watching Maxon with Astra told her in no uncertain terms that their children would never lack for love or closeness. And as soon as K was dealt with, they'd never lack for security, either. She and Maxon would have hundreds of nights like this, this was her life now. Maxon was her life now, and he was everything she'd ever wanted.

* * *

Maxon had a meeting with the English and the guards for a quick security update early the next morning, but the Singers had the morning to sleep in, so Maxon carefully slipped out of bed at the dawning of the sun, and gently tucked Astra and America in before he left.

Sensing the space created by his absence, Astra semi-consciously wiggled over until she found America and then wrapped an arm over the baby bump with a loud, adorable sigh.

Maxon froze in the middle of putting on his jacket just to look at them, then he fished the little, svelte camera America had given him for his birthday out of its permanent home in the breast pocket of his jacket-of-the-day, hit the button to turn on the camera, and then very quickly snapped a picture of them.

Astra sighed heavily as he returned the camera to his pocket and then he heard her mumble, "Where Mackin?" In a sleepy voice, with her eyes still shut, somewhere between sleeping and awake.

"Right here." Maxon assured her softly, coming over and running his hand through her hair. "I have to go to work and when I get back we'll have breakfast. What should we have?"

Astra smiled but kept her eyes closed, pretending to be asleep. "Ice cream?" She suggested.

"Okay." Maxon agreed, standing up and running a hand through his own hair to tidy it up.

"...Really?" Astra asked, surprised, opening one eye to peek up at him and dropping all pretense that she was still sleeping.

"Sure. But we might have some scrambled eggs, too."

"Okay." Astra agreed.

"Sleep tight with Aunt Ames and I'll come get you when the food is ready."

"We can eat in the tree house?" Astra asked. "Like Aunt Ames?"

Maxon crossed his arms over his chest and beamed down at his little partner-in-crime, smugly. So he would have his revenge on Aspen and America after all. "Absolutely. Just you and me." Astra grinned, and Maxon reminded her, "But you have to get a little more sleep for now, okay?"

"Okay." Astra promised, squeezing her eyes shut tight.

Maxon pressed a kiss to her little forehead, then one to America's undisturbed brow, then he got up, waved one more time to the Astra, who was pretending to be asleep again but waved back all the same, and then closed the door softly behind him.

When America woke up that morning, it was to an empty bed and the sounds of loud giggling from outside. The window was open, but why? She remembered that Maxon and Astra had closed the window before coming to fetch her out of the treehouse the night before. She breathed deeply and rubbed her eyes, stretching and yawning, and when she peeked an eye open she found a tray of food waiting next to her in bed. Eggs, toast, and strawberries, with a glass of milk on the side. America grinned, this was Maxon's doing.

While she ate, she listened more carefully to the noises drifting in from her window, and now that she was focusing, she definitely heard Maxon's voice animatedly exclaiming something, and more giggles that sounded suspiciously like Astra. America bit back another smile. They were playing in the backyard.

America could almost forget that this was the day of Kota's funeral.

When she was done with her food, she found a note taped to the bottom of the tray.

_'Ames,_

_We have taken over your Aspen treehouse. It is our treehouse now._

_— M&amp;A'_

And there was a scribble at the bottom, like Astra had wanted to add her own thoughts to the note but couldn't quite figure out how to write. She laughed.

America couldn't figure out what she'd ever done in her life to deserve a husband who could somehow manage to wake her up with a smile and a laugh on the morning of her brother's funeral, but she was glad she had him.

She slipped out of bed and wrapped on her robe, already out the door on her way to the backyard. In the kitchen, she found James and Kenna sipping coffee together and looking out the window.

"What do you see?" America asked, stealing an orange from the table. They were leaving right after the funeral, so it was their last chance to eat the food Mary had brought them.

"Every once in a while, Astra's curly head goes flying past the treehouse window." Kenna grinned. "I was telling James, I think that's what I must have looked like when Dad first built it and we played in it together."

"Are you telling me you were cute, Ken?" America teased. "I only remember awkward, speckled, lanky preteen Kenna."

"Oh, don't start that game with me, your _Majesty_." Kenna warned. "I've got a lifetime of awkward stories I could tell about you, and you've got a Kingdom of people who would listen with rapt attention."

America tried to think of a way around Kenna's blackmail, but couldn't. "Touché." She finally allowed, and then headed out to the backyard. The closer she got to the treehouse, the louder the laughter grew. "What's going on up there?" She called out, and Astra screamed.

"Oh, no!" She heard Maxon's voice say. "She finally found the note!" and Astra squealed again.

"Are you taking over my treehouse, Astra?" America asked, teasing.

"Yes!" Maxon and Astra's voices called out. A moment later, their heads appeared in the treehouse window, and Maxon yelled, "And you can't have it back!"

"That's not very nice." America grinned, folding her arms over her baby bump. "You know it's more polite to share, Maxon."

Astra collapsed into a fit of giggles and then called down, "This is our castle!"

"Really?" America asked. "Because it looks like my treehouse."

"Nope." Maxon replied. "Definitely our castle treehouse! No Aspens allowed!"

America rolled her eyes and said, "What are you two even doing up there?"

Astra was quick to reply, in the highest pitch scream America had ever heard in her life, "WE HAD ICE CREAM!"

America and Maxon locked eyes at this and shared a laugh, and then America waved them over, "Astra, I think you need a bath before church." There was tell-tale smeared chocolate all over the little girl's lips.

"No!" Astra cried, eyes wide with horror at the thought of ending her playdate with Maxon, and for a bath of all things. Maxon was smooth, though, he leant over and whispered something in her little ear, and after a moment of reluctance, she broke into another wide smile. "Okay!" Astra corrected.

America came over and positioned herself beneath the bottom of the treehouse. She held her hands up, and Maxon lowered Astra down, careful to situate her so that her little feet were on a plank. Before he let go of her hands, he made sure America was supporting her back, and then he let go.

Astra teetered, working very hard to climb down one rung. After that she was done, "Okay, carry me."

"Okay." America chuckled, pulling her off the rung and into her arms. They both waited for Maxon to get down, with the remains of their ice cream bowls, before heading inside.

Kenna was washing the coffee mugs, and James drying them, when America walked in with Astra on her hip and Maxon in-tow. "I believe this is yours." America said, holding Astra out to James, who set the dish towel down on the countertop and held out his arms for his daughter.

"Wow, Astra, it looks like you're ready for a bath." he laughed at his chocolate-mustachioed daughter.

"But—" Astra started, looking uncertainly back at Maxon, who winked at her with a nod. "Yes." she agreed.

Kenna and James shared a bewildered look and then Kenna shrugged. With something like amazement, James carried Astra off towards the bathroom and Maxon came over to the sink with the bowls.

"I'll wash them." Kenna offered.

"I don't mind." Maxon said.

"Seriously, Maxon, you cast some sort of spell on my daughter to convince her to take a bath without pitching an enormous, ear-splitting fit. Let me wash your ice cream bowls." Kenna said, and Maxon grinned sheepishly before handing them over to her.

"I just told her I'd show her something special I found when she gets out." he said. Then he sighed, "Now I need to go find something special before comes back."

Kenna froze, her hands still in the warm, soapy water. "Ames, do you think Kota's old marble collection is still out in the studio?"

America blinked, surprised. "I don't know who would have taken it." She reasoned. "Kota didn't have any use for marbles when he left."

"Maxon, go check the bottom drawer on the cabinet full of paint in the studio. There should be a little cardboard box in there with a handful of Kota's favorite marbles."

"He put them in a box?"

"He thought we didn't know." America explained. "Most of the time we'd pool all of our marbles together. Every once in a while he'd find one he liked especially, and he'd hide that one away so it wouldn't eventually get lost like the rest. What made you think of that, Ken? I haven't thought of those in years."

"Just… I don't know, today." Kenna shrugged. "The funeral." she managed, the word sounding heavy on her tongue.

"Right." America nodded.

By the time Maxon was back with a handful of beautiful old marbles, Astra was out of the bath and wrapped up in a soft yellow towel with a duckie hood that went over her head.

"What you find?" Astra asked, streaking into the kitchen at a breakneck run, James trailing behind her with a little black dress and matching shoes in his hands.

"Look." Maxon said, squatting down to show her. "Aren't they pretty?"

Astra ogled the blue, green, gold, grey, and red glass balls amazed. It was even more adorable because of her yellow duck hood. "What are they?" she asked.

"They're called marbles. Do you want one?" he asked her, glancing up at Kenna and America as he did so. He was fairly certain they'd be alright with splitting up Kota's collection, but when they each gave him a smile and a nod, he gained confidence.

"I can have one?" Astra asked.

"Of course." Maxon smiled.

Astra just stared at the collection in his hand a little longer before reaching out and touching the golden flecked one. "This one?"

"It's yours."

Before Maxon could stand up, Astra hurriedly put a finger on a red one, too. "This one for Kile?" she asked, nervously.

It occurred to America that if, for some reason, Kile wasn't able to have a marble, Astra might not even want one for herself. Those kids had an unusual bond.

"Definitely." Maxon grinned, and Astra's face lit up. "I think Kile will love that one."

"Yeah." Astra agreed.

James said, "Alright, baby girl, dress time." and Astra took off, a marble in each hand, toward Kenna and James' room. James followed her off, and Kenna sighed, "I better go make sure she doesn't lose those. You haven't seen a toddler meltdown until they've lost a 'special' thing. She lost a 'special' bread tie once." Kenna shuddered. "We never speak of it in our household."

"There are still three left." Maxon said, standing upright. "Do you want one, Kenna?"

"No, thanks." Kenna smiled wanly and then followed after her little family.

America sighed heavily and then wrapped her arms around Maxon's neck, leaning in for a long kiss. "That was my good morning kiss." she explained.

"Oh." Maxon chuckled. "Where's _my_ good morning kiss?"

"Here." she kissed him again, and then finally released him.

"Do you want one, Ames?" he offered the marbles to her.

She smiled down and said, "Yeah. That blue one was always my favorite."

"No surprise there." he grinned. "To match your eyes." he held it out to her.

"Maybe you could give the others to May and Gerad?" America suggested.

"Yeah, no problem." Maxon turned to go find them.

"You'll need to tell them what they are. May might remember, but Gerad won't."

"Alright." Maxon said. He lingered for one more kiss, and then went off to find the youngest Singer siblings.

* * *

The path from the edge of the secured zone around the Singer's house to the church was lined with local citizens. These were not fans screaming at the pleasure of seeing the King, Queen, or one of the royal family in-person, these were local Carolinians, people who'd known the Singer's for decades, and they were lined up to pay their respects. The sight was a sobering one, as hundreds of people with straight, subdued expressions gathered, without any of the frantic waving or sign holding that usually accompanied a royal outing in Angeles. They just nodded as the car went slowly by, occasionally holding a hand up in a gesture of support more than a wave.

If her brother hadn't just been murdered by a deranged, uncatchable lunatic, America would have asked to walk to the church so that she could visit with some of these people. Their presence was strangely comforting. It reminded her that most citizens did not, in fact, want to murder her whole family, and were not pleased when someone tried.

At the entrance of the church, there were two official royal photographers sent by Gavril. There was no paparazzi in sight, Aspen mentioned that a couple of particularly intrepid paparazzi had shown up that morning and been run out of town by the locals. That made America smile.

The official photographers took a few shots of the family walking in to the old church building, then went inside and captured a few of Kota's patrons and fellows (Kota wasn't much for 'friends', but at least people were willing to show up for his funeral). There would be a segment about Kota's death in this week's _Report_ and a few publications would use the official shots to write their own stories, but it would all be highly controlled. There would be no photographs of the coffin, even though it was closed, and even more importantly, no photographs of a weepy, distraught pregnant queen.

Not that America was feeling particularly weepy or distraught. She was numb. There was even an odd buzzing sound in her ears. It felt as if everything was happening on the other side of a foggy piece of plexiglass. Thanks to the soft lighting in the church, everything even _looked _fuzzy.

It took a few minutes for America to register that there was music playing, and another minute to find a corner around which a Five sat playing an old piano. A teenaged girl, so lost in the music and devoted to the keys beneath her fingers that she didn't even notice the Queen of Illéa standing right beside her.

America watched her closely until she looked up and started, the music stopping instantly.

"Your Majesty!" The girl exclaimed, jumping up from the piano bench to sink into a curtsey.

America opened her mouth, closed it, and then opened it again. This girl was a few years younger than her, maybe May's age.

"How did you get this job?" America asked the first words to come to her head.

"Oh. Um… Pastor Finlay, he patrons my family, ma'am. I've done a couple of funerals before, and I have a steady, soothing rhythm, apparently…" she tucked a piece of blonde hair behind her ear.

"You do." America said, not sure at all if this was true. She'd barely been able to hear the music through the fog invading her mind at the prospect of burying her brother. "What's your name?"

"Olive Weaver." The girl said, meekly. Weaver. America remembered the Weavers, but she didn't remember an 'Olive'. She remembered this girl's older brother, Titus, a brown haired boy about Aspen's age.

"Olive… his… his favorite song was the 'Clair de Lune'. It was the only song he ever bothered to memorize all the way through, he… well, he knew he was going to be a sculptor from a very young age." As she said this, she realized that saying her dead brother's name was apparently off-limits for her today.

"I know it." Olive assured her. "Would you… would you like me to play it for him?"

"Yes, please." America said, glad the girl understood. "That would be wonderful."

"Ames?" Maxon appeared behind her, an arm wrapped around her waist. "Let's go take our seats."

"Okay." America said, vaguely. She wasn't sure what to say next. How does one introduce one's brother's funeral pianist to one's husband? "Maxon, this is Olive. She's going to play 'Clair de Lune'."

"That's a good one." Maxon nodded, eyeing America with concern. "Hello, Olive."

"Your Majesty." Olive curtseyed again.

"Come on, May saved you a spot next to her." Maxon said.

"Good." Nothing was actually good, but it seemed like the right thing to say. America turned and walked off without another word.

This church was small, the pews divided once in the middle to create an aisle leading from the front door to the altar. Kota's closed coffin was at the altar now, America had to walk right past it to get to the front row. Magda was at the end, then Kenna, James with Astra in his lap, and May, then a space for America and Maxon, and then Gerad at the other end. Aspen was with Lucy, Meri, and Mary in the second row, along with James' family, but beyond that, it all started to get blurry and confusing, a small collection of meaningless faces in neat, tidy rows for display to some deity.

Guards surrounded the premises, but as America peered down the aisle, the one posted at the door was Avery, a reassuring sight. He nodded to her and she nodded back, before taking the seat Maxon was ushering her toward.

America knew Pastor Finlay from her childhood. Her parents hadn't been much for church, America's father used to say that it wasn't even his _kind _of church, whatever that meant, but for holidays like Christmas and Easter, the Singers usually found themselves there with the rest of the community.

They hadn't gone to church for her father's funeral, he'd had a few special rites at his burial sight and then they'd just put him in the ground. Kota wouldn't have liked that. He'd have liked being the center of attention like this. That was some comfort.

As the Pastor began speaking, Maxon reached over and captured America's hand tightly. America squeezed back gratefully and then wrapped her arm through May's, who looked like she was dazed and far away, staring into the space between the coffin and their row.

America was sure Pastor Finlay had spent a lot of time on his speech. It was probably beautiful and poignant, but America simply did not have the mental faculties to grasp it. She was aware he was speaking, and she understood each word individually, but couldn't hold them in her mind long enough to string them together into sentences and create meaning. Overall, she was simply left with the sensation that he was sympathetic and supportive of their family, and that was nice.

There came a moment where America hit a wall, emotionally. She could either curl into a ball in the middle of the church floor and surrender to loud, gut-wrenching sobs, or she could forbid herself from crying at all. There was no middle ground today. No tears or all the tears, these were her only options.

Of course, she chose 'no tears', and clamped her bottom lip tightly between her teeth, clenching her jaw and forcing herself rigid. She focused on breathing. She focused on Maxon's hand in hers. The ridges of his knuckles. The shade of his skin against hers. The light little freckle above his wrist.

The rug under the pastor's podium had a small wrinkle in it near the edge. How had that happened? The flowers next to the coffin were the brightest she'd ever seen. Why were they so bright? Funeral flowers had no business being that vibrant. Had Silvia chosen them?

Apparently, Gerad had hit the emotional wall at the same time she had, but he had now lost his battle with the tears. He covered his face with a hand and tried not to be too loud with his sobbing, but he wasn't exactly in control anymore.

America had never seen her baby brother cry like that. In fact, since finding out about Kota's death, Gerad hadn't cried at all.

"I know." Maxon whispered to Gerad, wrapping his free arm tightly around the boy and pulling him in to an embrace. Gerad leant against Maxon's chest uselessly, and turned to muffle the sound of his crying in Maxon's jacket. Maxon held him close, and America squeezed her husband's hand before releasing it, freeing Maxon up to focus on Gerad.

May leant her head on America's shoulder, quiet tears spilling down her face as her eyes darted between Gerad and the pastor. Sweet May, she didn't want to seem rude, so she was pretending to be listening to the pastor's well-rehearsed words. Even on the day of her brother's funeral, May was selfless and considerate. America kissed the top of her head. "I love you." she whispered to May, who whispered it right back.

Next to them, Gerad was finally able to get a soft sentence out for Maxon to hear. "I'm too loud." Which would have broken America's heart, except that she was in total shock and unable to feel that level of pain.

Maxon simply shook his head, "You're fine." Maxon whispered over and over. "You're fine. Don't worry about anything. Not anything. You're fine." And so Gerad kept crying, but without the same desperation thanks to Maxon's efforts.

When the speech was finally over, they all stood. The royal family left the church first, including the Legers and Mary, and they headed over to the cemetery.

Gerad was reeling himself back in by the time they got to the car, but Maxon kept an arm around him all the same. "Are you okay?" Maxon asked a couple of times, and Gerad nodded, each time more sincerely than the last.

The ride to the cemetery was silent, except for Astra shaking her curly head and decrying, "That was terrible church."

They all agreed.

Kota would have hated his plot next to their father, America realized with a sigh. But there was nothing to be done about it. He had to be buried in the Five section of the cemetery, even if he was a famous sculptor and the castes were on their way out of society. He'd died just a little too soon for the freedom to be buried elsewhere.

Been murdered, America corrected herself. He'd been murdered too soon. He didn't just die, he was killed. That was an important distinction.

They all gathered around as Kota's coffin was placed into the earth next to his father. Pastor Finlay sprinkled some dirt in, said a few words, and then concluded the ceremony.

It was over.

Sometime next week, the stonemasons would be done with Kota's revolutionary gravestone. 'Kota Singer, Sculptor' it would read, thanks to Maxon. Each Singer was escorted away by a non-Singer. Lucy handed Meri to May and they walked back to the car, Aspen took Magda, James and Astra had Kenna, Mary took America, and Maxon held on to Gerad, though the last four walked side-by-side.

As they walked away, America could hear the scraping of shovels as a crew of Sixes came in to finish the burial. They were burying Kota. He would never see sunshine or rain or snow again. Now there would only be dirt. Even as America walked to the car, the breeze blowing cool across her face, that crew was pouring dirt on her big brother.

She did not look back.


	41. Chapter 41

The moment America set foot in the Palace the morning after Kota's funeral, having flown all night to get back to Angeles, she was whisked off to the hospital wing to undergo a complete medical checkup and ultrasound. Maxon was able to join her just in time for the latter, to see that the baby was still growing and thriving despite all of the chaos in the world outside, and then he and America had to hurry off for a policy meeting with Stavros, Gavril, and Silvia. This meeting took precedence, even over the security meetings Maxon would be filling his afternoon with.

The pleasantries were excruciating. The moment Stavros, Gavril, and Silvia walked through Maxon's office doors, they started saying things like, "We're so sorry for your loss" and "We're so sorry that you had to cut your trip short" and "We're so sorry for the circumstances of this meeting" Apparently, they were so, _so_ sorry.

Sensing America's discomfort, Maxon moved the meeting along, pouring a glass of water for America and joining everyone at his sofas. America was already seated, and once he took his seat, the rest of them followed suit.

"I take it we're being updated on the amendment." Maxon said, studying Stavros carefully.

"Yes, sir. We put out a poll following the statement from the Palace on her Majesty's late brother's death—"

"Murder." America corrected, sullenly sipping her water. She hadn't slept well on the plane, and was in a grouchy mood.

"Yes, ma'am." Stavros allowed. "Across the board, there has been a surge in approval for the royal family surrounding this tragedy. An enormous temporary bump in the ratings."

"How high?" Maxon asked, leaning forward.

"Your combined numbers sit at 70%, sir." Gavril reported.

"70%?" America asked, stunned. All they needed to safely enact their amendment was 75%. The last time they'd been officially updated, they were sitting at 60%, after having fought tooth and nail to pick up a measly 4% over the course of her entire first trimester. Now, all of the sudden, they'd jumped up 10%? "How is that possible?"

"These are soft numbers, very soft, we should expect them to be back down by this time next month." Gavril explained.

Silvia chimed in, "Historically, this _always_ happens in the face of personal tragedy, Ma'am. The nation rallies behind their leaders in times of crisis."

Gavril nodded and added, "The rebels were left out of the official story regarding Mr. Singer's death. In the statement, I mentioned the madman but not his ties to the rebellion. Therefore, King Maxon's numbers did not take the battering they might have if people again began to fear that he could not protect them from the southern extremists."

"It could have been just like the hostage crisis, but Gavril was so clever—" Silvia caught herself, the pride and adoration in her tone, and cleared her throat hastily to correct herself, "And so now, both of your numbers have improved."

Maxon nodded, considering this. "And these will be back down by this time next month?"

"Yes, sir." Gavril nodded.

"Her Majesty's second trimester is drawing to a close." Stavros said. "Gavril has launched an impressive media stealth campaign to bolster support for the idea of a woman as Maxon's heir—"

Gavril nodded, "A few of my celebrity contacts have been talking up equality in all of their public appearances for the last few weeks. It's going to be a major fashion trend this winter." America just shook her head, totally bemused that something like equality could be a fashion trend in the same way as fur coats or purple leggings. Gavril continued, "I've also had a word with a few college professor friends. They've started supporting equality between genders in lecture halls, and the students have responded in a big way. There are organized student groups rallying around the rights of women, mentioning specifically that they'd love to see this baby on the throne regardless of its gender. These have been popping up all over the country, and in a few foreign countries as well." Gavril said.

"Which is all very good news." Stavros said in a significant tone. "And I think the time is right to announce the amendment."

There was a long pause after this proclamation. America and Maxon shared a look, surprised. Maxon spoke first, "Are you sure? We could wait until closer to December, give the people less time to reflect and realize that they oppose the idea—"

"Your numbers are as high as they are likely to be for a little while, sir." Stavros said. "This is the moment."

Maxon and America shared another look, still unconvinced.

"Your Majesty," Gavril attempted, "Do you remember when we mentioned that, the larger her Majesty grew with child, the higher your approval ratings would be?"

"Yes." Maxon nodded.

"Her Majesty has undergone a growth spurt these last few weeks, surely you've noticed?" he tried so hard to be delicate.

America sighed and pressed both hands to her protruding bump. Slowly but surely it was beginning to dominate her petite frame. The transition from a second trimester belly to a third trimester belly was beginning. Maxon and Gavril both eyed her nervously, like she might be offended, particularly given her already dour mood. America just shook her head, "Trust me, I'm alerted to every gained centimeter by Mary when she has to let out my dresses and re-tailor them every week.

Maxon smiled over at her sympathetically and grabbed her hand, giving it a loving little squeeze.

"All of this is to say that the timing is optimal." Stavros continued. "Your Majesties will not be appearing on the _Report_ this week, instead Gavril will be airing the special on Kota Singer."

"Which reminds me, I'm sure it will be lovely, Gavril, but America and I will not be watching. We'll be on a date night, trying very hard not to think about the whole thing." Maxon said.

"I understand entirely, sir." Gavril assured him.

"However, next week's _Report_ coincides with the beginning of her Majesty's sixth month of pregnancy. The perfect time for a check-in with Gavril. The perfect time for the royal family to reflect on the preparations being made for the baby, and for the King to reflect on the potential this baby has to be his heir."

"Why aren't we both reflecting on that?" America checked.

"This needs to come from King Maxon, as the hereditary monarch. He needs to be the one to alter these rules, or it could be misinterpreted by some as a coup."

Maxon brushed his thumb soothingly over her hand, as if sensing her annoyance at how delicately they had to tread, and then he said, "Very well. I'll start putting together a statement."

"Send it to me as soon as possible, and I'll add my own revisions." Gavril nodded. "In the meantime, we want to keep the Singer family as close to the Palace as possible. Those funeral photographs are to be the only fresh photos until next Friday's _Report_. It will keep the approval numbers high, fueled by sympathy."

"No problem." America said. "After the weekend we had, we need some time to recover."

"Yes, ma'am." Gavril nodded, understandingly. "However, we might want to consider leaning on some of the Selected to make public appearances on your behalf over the next week."

"How so?" Maxon asked.

"Sending them to tour charities you patron or to make public appearances wherein they casually mention their affection for your family. It will only bolster public opinion, rather than allowing it to stagnate in the absence of your presence."

"This could be risky." Maxon frowned, "I don't want any of the girls getting hurt, targeted by rebels for this."

"We'll make it subtle." Gavril nodded in agreement. "An outing here, an outing there. No major blitz, just a series of small appearances. These women are scattered throughout the country, they won't present an easy target."

"Kota didn't present an easy target, either." America muttered mutinously, but they all heard it.

Maxon frowned at her. She was glaring at the floor, but she could feel his eyes locked on hers as he thanked the others and asked them to give them just a moment. All three advisers quickly showed themselves into America's adjoined office and closed the door to allow the King and Queen some privacy.

"Ames, are you alright?"

"Oh, I'm fantastic, Maxon." she said, sarcastically.

"If this is too much, you should take the rest of the day off. Go play with Astra in the gardens or get a massage with Kenna and May."

She didn't want to think about how good both of those options sounded right now. "I want to work."

Maxon nodded. "Alright. But you're scaring the advisers a little, sweetheart. Kota was targeted because we were on our way to visit him, we won't be visiting the former Selected, they won't be targeted like that."

"I know."

"I know you do." Maxon said, sweetly. Then he sighed and brushed his thumb against her hand, "Look at me, Ames."

So she did. And she knew, right away, that he saw the pain in her eyes.

"America—" his voice shook, wavering as he took her expression in.

"It's just going to be like this for a little while, Maxon." she said, soothingly. She hated that he ached, even though it was on her behalf. "I'll feel fine one moment and hardly manage to hang on the next… grief is a strange thing, I'll be taking it moment by moment for a little while. But not forever."

"I'll bet the hormones aren't helping." Maxon frowned. He almost sounded like he was blaming himself.

"The hormones are fine for now." she reassured him. "Although, Marlee says that once I get into my third trimester, and my body has to boost all of the hormones that prepare itself for labor, that all bets are off. She says melting ice cubes regularly brought her to tears. She had to drink room temperature water for the last two weeks before Kile was born, because of it."

"Why?" Maxon asked, horrified.

"No reason, really." America shrugged.

"So what do I do when that happens? Do I just pat your shoulder sympathetically?" he asked, anxiously.

"Between you and me, I prefer hugs." America winked.

"Well, of course. You are my dear, after all." he joked.

"Oh, don't even start." she laughed. The sound of her laughter was a relief to him. Her 'hardly hanging on' moment had passed, for the time being.

Maxon agreed not to start trouble, and then stood. He leant down to press a kiss to her forehead, and then another to her lips, and then he crossed over to the doors that led to her office and swung them open. Gavril, Stavros, and Silvia sat on the far side of the room, conversing casually, but when they saw the King they jumped to their feet.

"Alright, let's talk about which of my Selected we want to reach out to." Maxon said, retaking his seat as they all hurried in behind him. He restarted the meeting as if it had never been paused to begin with. "There are a few I wouldn't exactly trust to cast the monarchy in a favorable light."

One glance between them and America knew they were both thinking of the same person. Bariel. America smirked as Gavril agreed and began listing them off from memory, alphabetically by province. The baby kicked, as if in protest, and America couldn't help but agree that sitting through a long conversation about the possible uses for Maxon's exes was not the way she wanted to spend her afternoon, either. She tugged Maxon's hand over and pressed it to the spot where the baby was kicking, watching his absentminded smile as he continued to discuss with Gavril, whilst feeling the baby thumping against his palm.

She kept her eyes on him as, each time the baby kicked his hand, his smile grew larger and larger until finally he couldn't stop himself from peeking over at her. He looked so young, so exactly his age. Somehow feeling this baby move turned him from 'serious King Maxon' to 'worry-free Max' right in the middle of an adviser meeting.

_Good job, little One, _America thought, appreciatively. This baby was already all kinds of good for Maxon.

* * *

True to his word, that Friday night, instead of watching the _Report_, Maxon and America had a quiet dinner on the balcony, and then they headed down to the outdoor pool. It was September now, and though Angeles was still plenty warm, the water wouldn't remain tepid for much longer. They were taking advantage of a sunset/moonlit swim while they still could.

As Maxon set their towels on the warming rack and removed his white T-shirt to revealthose pectoral and abdominal muscles that somehow made America's mouth water and go completely dry at the same time, America took off her robe to reveal her bulging belly and slowly walked into the water from the shallow end, making her way to the deep end. The moment her belly was fully submerged, she let out a long, audible sight of relief.

"That good, is it?" Maxon asked, surprised, as he sat down on the edge of the pool near her and dangled his legs into the warm water.

"Amazing." America confirmed, wading over to him. "This baby is weightless right now, I haven't felt this good in weeks."

"You know there's always the indoor pool if you need it, Ames." he said, concerned.

"I know. But I'm here now, I might as well just stay until the baby's born. I could give birth out here, in the water, in the middle of December, couldn't I?"

Maxon chuckled, "You can do anything you put your mind to, Love." He assured her, and then slipped into the water to join her. "Race you to the other end?"

America laughed, "Believe it or not, I'm not as aerodynamic as you are right now." She rubbed a hand over her exposed stomach and his hand ghosted the path hers took.

"Sure, but you're so much more buoyant." He teased.

"I'll count, you swim. How fast do you think you can do five laps?"

"Five laps?" Maxon asked, studying the length of the pool. "Three minutes."

"Three minutes?" America asked, lifting her eyebrows in mock disbelief. "If you swim five laps in three minutes, I'll give you a _long_ kiss." She wagered. The edge of the pool was rimmed with a bench built into the water, and when America moved to sit on it, her heavy stomach remained blissfully underwater.

She reclined comfortably and Maxon grinned, "What if I lose?"

"Then _you_ have to give _me_ a long kiss. A real good one, too. Lots of lip action." She folded her arms, inadvertently propping her breasts up in an action that caused Maxon to temporarily lose the thread of the conversation. He gaped at her, eyes glazed over, blissfully lost in non-thought for a few seconds. He finally blinked and sighed, contentedly. "Right. Laps. Swimming." and he hurried over to the far side of the pool. "Count out loud." he commanded. "No cheating!"

He managed two laps in two minutes, but then his underwater form switched directions and he emerged a foot in front of her face. "I couldn't wait any longer. I lose." he said, snaking his arms around her to pull her close by the small of her back. She wrapped her legs around his hips, knowing she could never, ever be close enough to him, and then he leant in for a good, long kiss.

His lips were dripping wet and tasted of chlorine, but the inside of his mouth was pure _Maxon_. When he flicked his tongue quickly against the roof of her mouth, the tickling sensation he left behind caused her to groan, her fingers and legs tightening and pulling him closer. The first time he broke the kiss, she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him back in, saying, "More." in a voice that made him grin wolfishly.

She ran her hands through his sopping wet hair and he released her lips just long enough to say, "I like this 'date night' thing, we should never do the _Report_ again."

"Okay." she breathed, before attaching her lips to the dip behind his ear, then his earlobe, then his jaw.

"…A-Ames, we just… we _just_ got in the pool." he stuttered.

"I know." she didn't even lift her lips from his pulse point to reply.

"Let's not leave it behind for the bedroom quite yet." he reluctantly proposed, and she sighed, heavily.

"You're right." Her lower back was still decompressing from the usual weight of the baby, as it was.

"Come on." Maxon took a full step back, forcing her to release him from her legs. In exchange, he offered her his hand, "I'll bet there are a few stars dotting this sunset."

Knowing what he was thinking, America joined him in the middle of the pool and tipped her head back, following his lead, relaxing her limbs and breathing deeply until they both lay, floating on their backs, connected by their grasped hands, staring up at the evening sky.

It was the stillest, most quiet, most peaceful moment they'd had in weeks. Sometimes, in the early hours of the morning, they'd both find themselves awake and cuddled together in bed, speaking in soft voices or not speaking at all. That was the closest that compared to this moment, this magnificent pink and purple and navy blue sky splashed above them, and the two of them drifting weightlessly below.

"Can we just stay right here forever?" America asked, after several silent, peaceful minutes. "Freeze time and space and just do this for eternity?"

"I wish we could, my love." Maxon sounded wistful.

It wasn't that everything was perfect in that moment; after all, there was an _in memoriam_ to America's murdered brother being broadcast for the entire world to watch as Maxon and America lay there floating. Still, she felt close to Maxon, deeply connected to him in that imperfect moment. She had his child within her, his hand clasped with her own, and they were both gazing up at the same breathtaking sky. If she could choose one moment to live in forever, it would be this moment, this sunset, with this man.

Nothing but the darkening sky, the hum of the pool pump, Maxon's tight grip, and the distant song of crickets.

And then, an excited scream from a third floor balcony. "MACKIN!"

Maxon laughed so hard, he sank and had to stand upright and cough a little pool water out of his lungs. America was more composed, righting herself and then gazing up, eyes landing on a slightly harassed looking Kenna and a wildly enthusiastic, waving Astra.

"Hello, Pumpkin head!" Maxon waved back when he'd recovered.

Astra took this as a cue to yell something else down to them, but as it was nothing more than the high-pitched, enthusiastic shrieks of a three-year-old, neither America nor Maxon could make a single syllable of meaning out of it. They shared a confused look and then America called up, "What did you say?"

The wild little redhead tried to climb the balcony railing, but Kenna scooped her up mid-climb and replied, "She wants to go swimming with you."

"Did your Mommy say you could come?" Maxon called up.

This time, in a more human pitch, Astra replied, "Yes!"

"Well, come on, then!" Maxon laughed, and Astra wiggled down from her mother's arms and bolted back into her room. Kenna waved, even from three stories away she looked exhausted, and then followed after her exuberant daughter.

America sank down lower into the water, allowing herself to bounce and sway. "So much for date night." she smiled, ruefully.

"Are you mad?" Maxon asked, as though the idea that she might be upset after he just invited a three-year-old to their date had never occurred to him.

"Not at all." she promised. "I've missed her this week."

"I'll make it up to you." he reassured her. "I'll owe you back massages."

"You already owe me back massages."

"I do? From when?"

"From when I am pregnant with your baby and so you massage my back whenever I ask you to, that's from when." she reminded him.

"Oh, yes." he nodded, compliantly. "Infinite massages."

"A handsome man with a long memory. I'm so glad I married you." she grinned as she wrapped him in her arms and kissed him again. "Anyway," she said, pulling back and returning to the underwater bench along the rim of the pool, "This date was really more about diversion than romance. What could be more diverting than Astra at this hour, desperately trying to avoid bedtime?"

"Nothing." Maxon agreed with a chuckle.

"And I love watching you with her. You make me want to fill this Palace up with little redheaded girls so I can see you like that all the time."

"Fill this Palace up with little red headed girls?" Maxon repeated, grinning and paddling over to her, then pressing both of his hands to her belly. "That sounds like fun." He dipped his head underwater and pressed a string of kisses across her stomach. When he reemerged, his hair hung limp in his face, and he had to do a cute little head toss to flip it out of his eyes. This left his hair lumpy and absurd looking, though Maxon wore an absolutely adorable expression on his charming face.

America laughed and ran her hand through his hair, mussing it up in the way she was used to, and then she pecked him on the nose. "I love you."

He grinned at this, enthused as if he'd just done something impressive by convincing her to say that. He backstroked to the middle of the pool and then dove down into a handstand, which he held for about fifteen seconds before bursting through the water. "How was that?" he asked.

"_Very _impressive." America giggled, realizing he was showing off for her.

"I can do a cannonball, too, want to see?"

"Not necessary, my love." America replied, grinning. "Although, you should hurry up and put your shirt on before Kenna and Astra get here." Maxon always wore a shirt when swimming with anyone other than America. The scars were there, faded but not gone, and though she was so used to them that she'd stopped noticing them, he was still heartbreakingly self-conscious in front of others.

Maxon deflated a little at the thought of hiding beneath his shirt, and paused a long time. "…No, I don't think I will." he finally decided.

America blinked, surprised, "Really?"

"They're family, Ames. I love them like crazy, I don't necessarily want to tell them everything, but I certainly don't want to hide from them."

America smiled cautiously, hopefully, "But… Maxon, what if Astra asks you what happened?"

Maxon folded his arms over his chest and bobbed up and down in the water for a moment. "I'll tell her that a bad man hurt me, but that he's gone now, and he can't hurt us anymore, ever again. It's true. I shudder to think what my father might have been like with Astra."

"He was fine with Adele's children." America reminded him.

"He _ignored _Aunt Adele's children, and none of them ever lived with us. I'm glad Astra's safe from him. I'm glad he'll never touch our baby, too." Maxon frowned.

"Oh, Maxon," America frowned, and she'd almost gotten up from the bench to swim over and console him when, from across the lawn, they heard a little voice yell out, "MACKIN!"

America craned her neck around to find Astra racing across the cobbled path to the pool from the Palace, wearing a bright pink swimming suit and clutching a pair of black rimmed goggles in her hand.

"Astra, slow down!" Kenna called from behind, hurrying to catch up. She was in her own swimming suit, a gorgeous dark green one-piece that suited her skin tone and hair color exquisitely, with a fluffy white towel wrapped around her waist.

Astra may have believed in her heart that she slowed down, or it could have been that she was too excited to hear her mother calling out to her. Either way, she dashed like a Tasmanian devil straight to the edge of the pool and then, without a moment's hesitation, leapt like a baby bird towards Maxon, splashing down magnificently in front of him.

"Maxon, grab her!" Kenna called, racing to catch up.

Maxon easily reached out and scooped her into his arms, effortlessly lifting her back up above the water line, and laughing as she blew what sounded like loud raspberries in midair and he realized that she'd been making that sound underwater, too. That was how she exhaled when submerged.

Kenna slowed down now, hand clutched to her chest, breath coming out in gasps as she explained in a defeated-sounding voice, "She can't swim yet."

Maxon's eyebrows rose in surprise as he examined the little water-baby he had on his hip. "You can't swim yet?"

"I was swimmin." Astra argued, crossly.

Maxon fixed America with a look that told her exactly what he was thinking. That this child's stubborn streak was reminiscent of her own. "Astra, don't ever jump in the water without a grownup around to help you if you get stuck, okay?"

"I know." she replied, indignantly.

Maxon looked over at Kenna and reassured her, "The guards already know, but I'll makes sure to remind them, not to let her out near the pool by herself."

"Thank you, Maxon." Kenna replied, pinching the bridge of her nose to help relieve the lingering stress from a few moments ago. The moment her towel was hung on the warming rack, Kenna sank onto the bench next to America and said, "That girl is your spitting image sometimes, Ames. I swear she's fearless. She'll be the death of me."

"You want to learn how to swim?" Maxon asked Astra as Kenna reclined on the bench next to America and then sank her head onto her younger sister's shoulder. America wrapped an arm around her comfortingly.

"Daddy's been teaching me." Astra informed Maxon. "In the bathtub."

Maxon grinned at this, "Where is Daddy?"

With one chubby little finger, Astra pointed back to the Palace as if that would at all narrow down the search for James.

Kenna clarified, "He'll be down as soon as he finds his swim trunks."

"Ah, Good. Well then, Pumpkin head, why don't you show me what he's taught you so far?"

Astra commenced with blowing loud raspberries in the air again and Maxon chuckled, "Is that how you blow bubbles in the water?"

"Yes."

"Here. Hold onto me." Maxon took her goggles and she held on tight, arms wrapped around his neck, bobbing beside him. He carefully put the goggles on her, checking the fit and making sure they were secure. "Alright, now look for me underwater." Maxon instructed, wrapping his arms around her again. "We'll blow bubbles at each other."

"Okay." she was excited at the prospect.

"Take a deep breath on the count of three." Maxon instructed.

Kenna and America watched as Maxon and Astra bobbed underwater, stayed there for a few seconds, and then reappeared, laughing.

"He's amazing, Ames." Kenna said in an awed voice.

"I know. Believe me, he never stops surprising me with just how amazing he is."

"Thank you so much." Kenna said, sitting up and looking over at her little sister.

"For what?" America asked.

"For marrying him." Kenna replied, as if America had done them all a great favor. "For making him my brother. For making him _Astra__'__s uncle_. You could have made _anyone_ Astra's uncle, but you chose Maxon… I'm so grateful."

"Wow, Kenna… I don't know what to say. I'm really glad you feel that way." America smiled, surprised.

"I just know that being in the Selection was hard for you. Not even counting the time you were shot, or the time the rebels nearly killed the entire royal family. I know you had to miss Dad's last days, and you missed Astra's birth… but you were where you needed to be. I hope you know that."

"I do." America smiled, and the baby moved within her, as if confirming this for her.

"Daddy!" Astra's voice rang out, and America and Kenna turned around to find James arriving at the poolside, two extra towels on his arm, pulling his T-shirt over his head. America was surprised at the abs James had on him.

"Hey, baby girl!" He called out. "What are you doing?"

"Swimmin!" Astra replied eagerly.

"Maxon, are you teaching my daughter to swim without me?" James warned, but he was teasing.

"Just reviewing what you already taught her." Maxon promised. "Shall we show him what we practiced?" he asked Astra, who nodded her head vigorously in reply. "Okay, take a great big deep breath." Maxon reminded her, and Astra inhaled loudly, cheeks puffing out with leftover air.

Maxon and Astra disappeared underwater while James sank down on the bench next to Kenna and kissed her quickly in greeting.

When Astra and Maxon reappeared, James gave them a round of applause and they both took their bows before Maxon towed Astra over to the side of the pool to join the others.

"I'm glad we caught both of you." Kenna said. "Though, I'm sorry we're clearly interrupting your date."

"It's fine. We missed you this week." Maxon promised, pressing a loud kiss to Astra's cheek, removing her goggles, and passing her over to her father.

"Did you want to talk to us about something?" America asked, catching on to the thread of what her sister was thinking.

"We do." Kenna said, looking to James for guidance.

James nodded, helping her out. "In our wills, as it stands, if anything ever happens to us and we can't take care of the rugrat, my parents will take over and have custody of her."

Kenna nodded, "We set it up that way when she was born. We lived in Carolina back then, and James is the youngest in his family so his parents weren't still raising kids like Mom and Dad were with May and Gerad."

"But Kenna and I were talking last weekend in Carolina," James continued, "And it just doesn't make sense anymore. Our home is here in Angeles, it's the only home our little girl has ever known, she's got friends here and she's especially attached to you, Maxon. I can't imagine, on top of not having us, her having to move all the way to Carolina."

James and Kenna had clearly spent a lot of time discussing this, as they were so adept at finishing each other's thoughts on the subject. Kenna picked up, seamlessly, "She adores James' parents, but they're getting up in years and she's quite the handful. They might not be up to being full-time caregivers, although they'd always be there to support Astra."

"Of course." James agreed.

"Hm?" Astra asked at the sound of her name, looking up from the waves she'd been making with her hands in the water.

"We're talking with Maxon and Aunt Ames about that thing we discussed at dinner." Kenna answered.

"Oh." Astra shrugged and went back to making little waves.

Kenna sighed heavily, "So, James and I were thinking of changing Astra's guardianship in our wills."

America nodded, "I think Mom would be happy to look after her. That's a great idea, Ken."

"No, Ames. Not Mom. You and Maxon."

America blinked, surprised, and looked over at Maxon. His eyes were wide, taken aback, almost awed.

James misread their silence for hesitance, "Of course, you might need some time to think it over. That's fine. Magda is always there as an option, too. But if, for whatever reason, I couldn't be there to… you know, to give her swimming lessons or teach her to ride a bike or walk her down the aisle at her wedding, I know for a fact that I'd want it to be you, Maxon."

"And I have poured all of my older-sisterly advice into you, Ames," Kenna added. "I know that if she couldn't come to me with her problems, she could come to you and you'd know what I'd tell her. The two of you are a lot alike, brave and smart and strong. I can't think of anyone better to take over for me, if something goes wrong."

America studied Maxon's face a little more, ordinarily this was definitely the kind of thing they'd want to discuss first. It's a lot of responsibility, and they'd need to be absolutely certain that it was in Astra's best interest. America glanced down at the little girl, splashing happily in her father's lap and looked back up at Maxon. He had the smallest hint of a smile in his eyes and was clearly fighting to keep the corners of his lips from twitching upward at the thought. He didn't want to commit without America's approval.

They studied each other for a moment, each knowing exactly what the other was thinking, and America was surprised to find her eyes filling with tears. "Oh, Kenna." America finally spoke, beaming.

Maxon broke into a wide grin, "Of course. _Of course_ we'll be Astra's guardians."

"You will?" Kenna beamed between them.

"We're honored." America said, wrapping her sister in a tight hug.

James smiled, too, and shook Maxon's hand firmly. "That's wonderful. Thank you so much."

Maxon shook his head, "We can set up all the specifics for how you'd want us to care for her with a lawyer if you want, but I can promise you, she'd be an honorary princess."

"Princess?" Astra's eyes lit up, suddenly back in the conversation.

"Be careful," Kenna laughed, "She might decide she'd rather James and I meet an early demise."

"Prinnnccceeeessss?" Astra clarified again.

"What do you think, Bug?" James asked her. "Maxon and Aunt Ames are going to be your guardians now, if something happens to Mommy and Daddy."

"Like Koba?" Astra asked, knowledgeably, clearly remembering an earlier conversation she'd had with her parents.

"Like Uncle Kota." Kenna confirmed.

Astra nodded, and then flopped her face forward in the water, blowing bubbles all around her.

Maxon laughed, and laughed some more when she sat back up and her hair hung in thick, messy curtains all over her face. "Shall we go practice floating on our tummies, Astra?" Maxon suggested. "As soon as you master that, we'll have you stroking and kicking and swimming all over the pool."

"Yeah!" Astra began straining against James' arms to get to Maxon.

James pressed a kiss to Astra's wiggling head and said, "I'll be there in a minute." Then he released her and she paddled the two foot divide between James and Maxon in the most absurd, splashiest way possible, but it worked, and she was proud of herself.

"Ames," Maxon said, while Astra climbed onto his back for a piggyback ride. "Tell them about the house, see what they think."

"Okay." America winked at him and he dove into a swim, staying just below the water's surface so that Astra was riding him like a dolphin.

"Wow!" Astra exclaimed as Maxon started doing laps with her on his back. Every once in a while he'd sink down a little lower on purpose and she'd squirm and squeal, afraid that she was about to be taken underwater, and then invariably Maxon would rise back up and she'd laugh in relief. Once or twice, Astra fell off, and Maxon immediately picked her up above the water's surface and she'd cry, "Again, Mackin! Again!" so he'd perch her on his back and take off again.

"Are you alright, Ames?" Kenna asked, chuckling.

America blinked. She'd been absentmindedly gazing after Maxon while her hand stroked her belly in an effort to placate her own wiggling, squirming baby. "Fine." America smiled, trying to avoid blushing. "I just like them together, that's all."

"He's going to be an _amazing_ father." Kenna grinned.

"I think so, too. He was so worried, Ken, when we first found out about the baby. Clarkson wasn't… he wasn't a very good father, to be honest."

"Really?" Kenna asked, surprised. Maxon still didn't talk about the worst of his father's transgressions with anyone other than America. And there was no point in ruining his father's legacy as a benevolent king now, it would serve no purpose other than to mar the Schreave dynasty with scandal.

James didn't seem too surprised by this, though. "He always seemed a little distant, whenever he was in public with Maxon."

America shook her head, remembering specifically the day Clarkson took off for France and humiliated Maxon in front of all of the girls in the Selection by scolding him and refusing to allow him to go on the trip, too. "You don't know the half of it." she said, grimly. "Maxon was so afraid he'd be like his father, cold and distant and resentful." America shook her head. "He's nothing like that. He's warm and present and loving. I think he's starting to see that in himself now, with Astra. She's showing him that he's ready, and that he's going to be very good at this."

Kenna smiled, and then planted a kiss on America's cheek, "They make a good team." The three of them watched as Maxon completed another lap, much to Astra's delight, and then stopped in the middle of the pool to teach her how to float on her belly.

"What did you tell her?" America asked, a thought occurring to her. "Astra mentioned Kota, what did you tell her happened to him?"

"We told her he died, like Grandpa Shalom. She doesn't really understand what it means." Kenna sighed. "All she's ever heard about death has been in fairytales, where dead people can be kissed, cried, or wished back to life again. She doesn't understand that it's forever, yet."

America nodded thoughtfully, "It's good that you were honest with her."

"It was tempting to make up a story, something easier to explain. But that's not really fair to her, you know?" Kenna said. Then she looked over, "She remembered Maxon's mother, though."

"What?"

"When we told her we couldn't see Uncle Kota because he died, like Grandpa Shalom. She said, 'Like Mackin's Mommy, too?', when did she hear about that?"

"Back in August, Maxon's birthday." America said, surprised. "It was something to do with nightmares, I think…"

"I think she memorizes everything about him." Kenna shook her head. "She'll probably go through dreadful sibling rivalry once that one is born." she smiled affectionately in the direction of America's underwater belly.

"I don't know. Maybe." America said, doubtfully. "I think it'll just be one more person on their team, you know? She might like having another co-conspirator."

"That's a great way to think of it." James said. "We should try to sell her on that when we have our next baby."

America turned her head sharply to her sister and brother-in-law. "Excuse me?"

"Not yet." Kenna assured her.

"Soon." James grinned, as if plotting.

"We agreed to start trying around Astra's birthday. That's when I'll stop taking the birth control tablets." Kenna confessed. "We think it might take a few months to conceive, and by then the baby wouldn't be here until Astra was closer to five-years-old. That's a manageable age to throw another one into the mix." Kenna winked at James.

"Maxon's going to be thrilled." America grinned enthusiastically. "So am I, for that matter. I wish we'd coordinated this better, we could have had matching baby bumps!"

"I don't think so, Ames. Can you imagine anything worse than two Singer sisters going into labor at the _same _time? The Palace would crumble."

James chuckled, "There's always baby number three, Ames."

Kenna glared at him from the side of her eye, "Not until we've discussed it, there isn't, _James_."

"Three's a good number, Ken." James grinned roguishly. "One girl, one boy, and a tie-breaker."

"Talk to me in a few years." Kenna said and James pressed a kiss to her bare shoulder.

"I will." he promised.

"The Palace would crumble…" America mused.

"…Not literally, Ames." Kenna said, amused by how seriously America seemed to be contemplating those words.

"You like living at the Palace?" America asked, thoughtful.

"Very much." Kenna said. "I mean, I wish we could go back to the Angeles house every once in a while. It's nice to get out and smell the fresh air every now and then, but we love living here, Ames."

"Kenna… Maxon and I are supposed to be interviewing and hiring royal nannies for the baby soon."

"Eugh." Kenna winced.

America nodded, "That's exactly what I said. But we'll both be working full-time, more than full-time, so the fact is that we'll need some help."

James' eyes lit up, like he'd caught on to what America was thinking, but Kenna wasn't facing him, she was staring over at her little sister, nodding sympathetically, saying, "Of course."

"Kenna… would you be interested in that job?"

Kenna's eyes widened comically. "What?"

"Part-time, whatever hours you want to work. You'd have a permanent room in the Palace, Astra and your future babies would always be welcome. Astra could play with Kile Woodwork or Maxon anytime, and you and I could see each other much more often than if you weren't here. Think about it, Kenna!" America grinned, the more she talked about it, the more enthusiastic she became. "You could earn a little extra money, spend time with your niece or nephew, stay at the Palace indefinitely, plus you'd have access to the Palace hospital wing, you know Dr. Ashlar is the _best_…"

"Would Maxon be okay with this? Don't royal nannies have to be expertly trained? Aren't they the best childcare professionals in the world?"

"Maxon can't stop me, I run this country." America joked, physically waving away Kenna's concerns. "Plus, anything that keeps his Pumpkin head close at hand is alright by him. And we'll have other nanny positions to fill, let them be the super-professionals."

Kenna sighed and shared a look with James, "That sounds wonderful, Ames. If you're sure—"

"Positive. Be my baby's nanny." America grinned.

"Okay." Kenna laughed, excited.

"Did you tell them?" Maxon called out, having heard their laughter, and wading over with Astra in his arms.

"About the house? No." America confessed.

"Ames!" Maxon reproached.

"We got distracted by 'the Amazing Maxon and Astra show'." America defended, watching as Maxon handed Astra to Kenna and then stepped out of the pool.

"That's understandable, I guess. But then, what were you just talking about?"

"Kenna's going to be one of our nannies when the baby comes!" America gushed.

Maxon turned to look at them, surprised and elated, "Seriously? That's perfect, Ames! Who would we trust more than our own family to keep our baby safe? You're a genius!"

"And it means that even after this K business is taken care of, Astra will always have a room in the Palace." America grinned.

"Perfect." Maxon came over, knelt down, and pressed a kiss to America's cheek, then to Kenna's, then to Astra's.

"What are you doing, Maxon?" America asked.

"Turning on the pool lights and the fountains. It's dark enough." he explained, standing up and crossing over to a control panel attached to the pool house. A moment later, the lights on the floor of the pool sparkled to life and a jet of water at each corner spouted out in a tall arch.

"Wow." Astra breathed, staring down at the glittering lights below. "It looks like fairies."

Maxon jogged over and cannonballed back into the pool, splashing everyone on the bench. Only Astra enjoyed the sensation.

"Do you like it, Astra?" Maxon asked, gesturing to the lights as he swam back over to them.

"I love it!" she confirmed.

"Good." he grinned. "Now, about the house."

"Right." America nodded. "Maxon and I were in an adviser meeting for a couple of hours today, settling Kota's estate."

"He didn't have a will, so by law, his possessions now belong to the crown." Maxon explained. "That's how it is with all adult citizens who have no spouses or wills upon their death, but it just so happened that this time, it was Kota's possessions, so we've taken a special interest."

"We have a tentative outline of what will become of his belongings. Lots of donations, his completed art will be placed in museums or donated for charity auctions." America said.

"That's good." Kenna breathed, her words sounding tight and difficult to say. James slid an arm around her waist in support, and she had the comforting weight of Astra in her lap to help calm her.

"We're taking his considerable savings and donating it to fund art programs throughout Illéa." Maxon said. "He was a wealthy man, wealthier than we knew."

"He was saving up for that title." Kenna frowned.

Maxon nodded, "He nearly had it. There's enough that we've managed to get several art programs and even the sculpture garden at the Carolina Museum of Art named after him. We think he might have liked that."

America shrugged, "He'd have liked being a Two better, but there's nothing we can do about that now. So this way, he gets credit for being this amazing person and he's famous, and maybe someday some kid will enroll in an art program he funded, find out about some secret talent for sculpting, and become the success Kota always wanted to be."

"Of course," Maxon sighed, "The castes will be gone, so it won't really be the same. But it's the best we can do."

"It sounds wonderful, thank you both." Kenna assured them.

"That just leaves the issue of the house in Carolina." Maxon said. "Ames and I were talking last night, and we like the way Kota was using it. Renting it out to tenants to earn a little extra money. That money can be used to keep the place up, take care of it, and still provide a nice supplemental income."

"We think it'd be even better as a 'bed and breakfast' sort of thing. The revenue is higher, and there's less of a risk of things being destroyed." America said.

"We'd like to bestow it on your parents, James, if you think they'd like that." Maxon announced.

"Wait… what?" James asked, stunned.

"They could have a comfortable life, your dad wouldn't have to work anymore. They'd have time to come and visit here in Angeles. It's definitely a commitment, we wouldn't do this if they didn't want it, but we think they'd take good care of that special place." Maxon smiled.

"And it would take good care of them." America added with a nod. "And they can will it to any of your siblings, James, or if you and Kenna want to take it over, or whatever… as long as it's in good hands, and helping someone who deserves it, that's what we want. And maybe the chance to visit every once in a while." she smiled.

Kenna was biting her lip, smiling in a bittersweet, concerned way at James, who, much to America and Maxon's surprise, was trying desperately not to cry. He wiped at his eyes aggressively and inhaled deeply through his nose.

"You have no idea—-" he faltered.

"Daddy, you okay?" Astra asked, alarmed.

"Yeah, I'm fine, baby. I'm _real _fine." James promised, pulling her into his arms and letting her brush away an errant tear as he grinned.

Kenna helped him out, "We've been so worried about them."

"Dad's eyesight isn't what it used to be. He's still at the factory, and it's dangerous. He can't afford to stop working, but every day that he's there, he runs the risk of losing a hand or worse…" James explained.

"Oh, James, your mom is going to be so happy. This is the perfect little job for her, cooking breakfast for guests from all over the country and getting to know them for a weekend or two."

"Maybe I can fly over and fix the place up a little with Dad." James smiled, eyes still full of tears as he handed Astra back to Kenna. "Make it presentable for paying guests."

"That's what we want." America smiled. "Someone to take care of the place."

James laughed and cried and wrapped America in a tight hug, "This is such a relief. Thank you so much. So, so much."

Now_ America _was crying. She'd never expected this kind of reaction from James, who was usually so quiet and reserved. James released her and turned to Maxon, and America collapsed her head on Kenna's shoulder. Kenna was beaming, gently stroking the side of America's head soothingly and balancing Astra on one knee. Maxon and James were locked in a firm hug, patting each other roughly on the back, and that's when it occurred to America.

The boy she'd met at the Palace four years ago lived in constant fear of someone seeing his scars. Now here he stood, displaying them for the first time to someone other than her, and nothing terrible had happened. No one said anything, not even Astra. She couldn't imagine how freeing that was for Maxon.

Now she was crying harder, tears of joy and pride at her husband, and she was utterly unable to communicate exactly why she was sobbing to the people around her. Even Maxon was confused, but she blamed it on hormones and they let it pass.

Astra kissed America on each cheek and said, "Mommy, you take care of Aunt Ames."

"Okay, baby girl." Kenna accepted her orders.

"Daddy, we go play in the lights." She pointed to the middle of the pool.

"Sounds like fun, Bug." James grinned.

Then Astra paused. "Kkss… kkss… kkss…"

Kenna laughed at her daughter's bizarre behavior. "What are you doing, Astra?"

"Kkss…" she paused. "Ma-Kkss-In… Maksin… Maxin." She grinned up at Maxon, pleased with herself that she'd finally worked out how to pronounce that pesky 'X' sound.

Maxon's eyes widened, his heart visibly breaking, and his mouth dropped open as he gaped at her sadly. Finally, he stole her from Kenna's lap and set her on the edge of the pool so that he could stare up into her eyes earnestly. "Good work, Astra."

"Thank you, Maxin." she tested out her new sound delicately.

"But, I don't think I want you to call me 'Maxon'." he said.

"But it your name, Maxin." she reminded him, and Maxon winced.

"I know. And you do a very good job of saying it." she giggled at this and he continued, "But I want to be your Mackin." he said. "Just like you're my Pumpkin head."

"You do?" she asked, confused.

"Yes, please. I'll _always_ be your Mackin, and you _always_ be my Pumpkin head, okay?"

Astra sighed heavily. After all, she'd just done all of that work to figure out how to say his name the same way everyone else did. But, she could see this was important to him. "Okay, you my Mackin." she agreed.

"Forever?" he made her promise, holding a pinky finger out to her.

"Forever." she nodded, twisting her tiny pinky finger around his as best she could.

Maxon's whole body relaxed, "Thank you, Pumpkin head. Now, what were you going to tell me?"

"You going to play in the lights with me and Daddy."

"Sounds good." he smiled and pulled her back into the water.

Kenna winced as she and America watched the boys tow Astra out to the middle of the pool where the sparkling lights glittered underwater. "That hurt just to watch. Poor Maxon."

"He's not going to handle her growing up very well." America shook her head. "I pity the first boy who has to ask both James _and _King Maxon of Illéa for permission to take Astra on a date."

Kenna absentmindedly stroked America's belly underwater and nodded, "It won't be pretty."

About half an hour later, Astra peered up at her father and said, "Daddy, I'm tired."

Kenna and James shared a flabbergasted expression and then James clarified, "You're ready for bed?"

"Yes, please."

Another shocked expression, and then James and Kenna all but dashed out of the pool with Astra. Kenna stopped long enough to peck America on the cheek and vow to see her at breakfast. James wrapped his family in warm towels and then waved as they took off, dripping wet, back to their rooms, a row of variously sized wet footprints in their wake.

"I think James and Kenna just saw a date night of their own materialize." Maxon laughed.

"Good." America smiled, reaching out for him.

When he got close enough to see that she had goosebumps on her arms, he frowned, "Are you getting chilly, Love?"

"A bit."

"Let's go inside and warm up." he grinned. "I have a shower that makes a _lot _of steam."

"Do you?" America smiled, ogling him as he climbed out of the pool again, turned off the lights and fountains, and brought a nice, hot towel over to her.

She winced as she climbed out of the pool, her body instantly reminded of the extra weight it now carried around her middle. Maxon frowned as he wrapped the towel around her and held her close, "I'm sorry, Love."

"It's okay, Maxon." she promised. "This just means that you need to take me swimming more often."

He ran his hands over her bare belly, his eyes raking over her curves, and grinned, "Happily."

He spent a few moments kneading her lower back with his fingers, and she leant her head against his shoulder, breathing deeply as he did. "You know, Maxon, I don't think you have to worry about Astra."

"About Astra?"

"Outgrowing you, I mean. You don't have to worry. Whether she calls you 'Mackin' or 'Maxon', it doesn't matter. She's _always_ going to look at you like you hung the moon and the stars just for her."

"Really? Are you sure?" Maxon asked, anxious.

America smiled, "That's the special thing you have with her, Max. Even if this baby is a girl, your bond will be different. Baby daughters turn into teenaged daughters, and teenaged daughters get annoyed by their fathers."

"No!" Maxon insisted, pulling back to look at her but continuing his massage on her back. "You and your father were birds of a feather."

America nodded, "That doesn't mean that he didn't ever annoy me. I rolled my eyes at him all the time, discredited his advice by saying that it came from 'Dad'—" and she accompanied the word with a scowl and an eye-roll to demonstrate her point.

"No. No, please." Maxon looked horrified of such a fate.

"It's not like that with nieces, though." America smiled. "Astra will never need to rebel against you in order to form her own identity. You will _always_ be her Mackin, whether she calls you that or not. I'm sure of it."

Maxon beamed down at her. He kissed her, and simultaneously found a knot in her back that he released, causing her to moan gratefully in his mouth.

He grinned, "Now, how do I become the 'awesome dad' so that our daughters won't ever rebel against me and roll their eyes at me and think I'm annoying?"

America laughed and took his hand, turning back towards the Palace.

"Ames, I'm serious." Maxon said, following after her, worriedly.

"It doesn't work that way, Maxon."

"I'll buy them ponies. That should help." he reasoned.

"No, honey."

"Lots of dresses, too."

"Maxon—"

"Chocolate cake?" he guessed.

America sighed and squeezed his hand. "This is why we're a team. So that when our babies stop looking at us like we're heroes, we still have each other."

"And I'll still have Astra." he grinned.

America nodded, chuckling, as he opened the door into the Palace for her. "Yes, you will."


	42. Chapter 42

"Gavril thinks I should invoke Mother and Father during the announcement." Maxon said, by way of greeting, as he appeared on the balcony behind America the following Monday night.

For her part, America was in her silk maternity nightgown, wrapped in a light blanket, curled up on a reclined chair, reading a budget report for one of the prenatal clinics in her still defunded initiative. She looked up at the sound of his voice and frowned. His sleeves were rolled up, his hair was disheveled, and his tie was hanging loose around his neck. He'd had a terrible day at work, she didn't even need to see the dark rings under his eyes to know that he was exhausted.

"Come play with the baby." America instructed him, scooting over so that he could squeeze into the chair with her. It wasn't as easy this fall as it had been last spring, America was definitely larger now.

She waited until he was comfortable, tension gone from his muscles, breathing steady, hand stroking her belly in a rhythm that was comforting for all three of them, then she said, "So, what does that mean? Invoking your parents?"

"Just mentioning them in the announcement somehow. I think implying that they would have supported the amendment, giving it their tacit approval. Gavril thinks that would help endear the people toward the idea."

"Your mother probably would have supported it. She knew that she had a role to play, in your father's life and in his government, but she never imagined that_ her _version of Queen was the _only _version of Queen. I do things very differently than she did, but I like to think she would have approved."

"So do I." Maxon agreed.

"And if this baby is a girl and she becomes the hereditary monarch, her version of Queen will be revolutionary. But I'll bet your mother would still have been so proud."

"I believe that." Maxon said, reluctantly. "But I can't very well stamp my mother's seal of approval on the amendment and leave my father out of it. That would raise more than a few eyebrows."

"Ha." America shook her head. "I'll give his fake approval for you. I like doing things I know would have made him furious, it makes me think he's somewhere in the afterlife, shaking his fist at me in rage."

Maxon chuckled, amused at her but not the situation. "You're nothing but trouble, do you know that?"

"I do." America grinned over at him, and then drew his head down to rest on her shoulder, running her hand through his golden hair over and over. "So what are you going to do?"

"I'll mention them, I suppose." Maxon sighed. "They were very much beloved, and there's no sense turning down their imagined support. We need all the support we can get, real or pretend."

America pressed a kiss to his forehead and then let the conversation fall to silence. She knew he was about thirty seconds away from asking her about her day, and she knew he was tired, so she saved him the trouble. "I was wondering if you might donate some of your photographs to the prenatal clinics."

"My photographs?"

"Some of the ones we haven't published, just a few from the private collection."

"Would it help?"

"Very much. I think we should send never-before-seen prints taken by the King himself, images of private Palace life, to the clinics and they can auction them off and put that money to excellent use."

"Do you have any images in mind?"

"I have a few. I'll talk with Gavril, I think if I choose the right ones, it'll help our approval ratings."

"Because, of course, copies of the new prints will be published in all the major magazines. People will be discussing what we release in detail." Maxon nodded, understanding.

"You know that picture of your mother and me? The one of us in the Women's room, from the day we Selected stole your camera for our own dark purposes?"

"You want to auction that one?"

"We'd still have the original. It would make a fabulous amount of money for the clinics, it would look very good in the press, and it would… well, sort of 'memorialize' that moment. It's the only image that's just the two of us, the two Queens—"

"That's why I cherish it so." Maxon said. "But you're right, we'd still have the original. We'd just be sharing that moment with the world, adding it to the collective conscious of Illéa. A beautiful moment like that shouldn't be hoarded, kept locked away from the history books. I think it's a wonderful idea, Love."

"You do?"

"Absolutely. We'll look through my collection together and see what else we can find for the clinics."

America smiled and continued massaging his scalp. "You're a very good man, Maxon Schreave."

"In the service of a very good wife." he replied, sincerely.

America drifted off into a light doze, snuggled up with him like that. She was vaguely aware that the baby was lightly kicking and Maxon was gently stroking the baby bump in reply, speaking in hushed tones and chuckling as the baby seemed to kick or punch in response to whatever he was saying.

"Ames." she finally heard clearly. Maxon's voice was coming from right next to her ear.

"Hm?" she mumbled.

"It's getting cold out, let's get you to bed." he said. She rubbed her eyes, blinking them open while he slid out from the chair and stood with a stretch. Then he bent down and scooped her up into his arms.

"No, Maxon! I'm too heavy!" America objected.

Maxon pouted at this, otherwise unconcerned as he carted her into his bedroom. "I'm hurt that you think that, America. That's rather insulting. I'll have you know that I can lift 330 pounds in the weight room, and it wounds me that you think me such a weakling as to be incapable of lifting your tiny frame."

America chuckled at this, relieved. "Oh. I'm sorry, Maxon, I didn't mean to offend you."

"Men are very sensitive about that kind of thing, Ames." he teasingly insisted as he gently lowered her into bed, and she laughed, pulling him in for a kiss before releasing him.

She eyed him appreciatively as he changed out of his rumpled suit and slid into bed with her, clad only in his boxers. "You know what, I see it now. I'll bet you can lift even more than 330 pounds."

"Really?" he asked, hopefully.

"Oh, yeah. I'll bet you could lift 500 pounds. Your muscles certainly look ripple-y enough." she pressed her lips to his biceps and he smiled.

"_That__'__s_ what men like to hear." he chuckled.

"Thank you for teaching me." she grinned.

"Sleep well, my love." he pressed a kiss to her lips, then slipped down in the bed to address her stomach, "And as for you, my other love, do _not _keep your mother up all night with your fussing and kicking. This is bedtime, and it is strictly enforced in this palace. I love you, but it is time for you to learn." he sternly addressed her stomach, and America couldn't stop her giggles.

Maxon moved back up to his pillow and then drew her in, as close to himself as possible. He lay on his back, and America on her side so that her stomach poked against his hips and he would know if she was being brutally kicked in the night so that he could give the baby another firm talking-to, or at least a gentle massage that sometimes worked to soothe it to stillness, and feel like he was somehow helping the situation.

America fell asleep very quickly, Maxon's warm breath on her bare shoulder, her face perfectly ensconced in the curve of his neck.

That was the last time she saw him until the next evening. She was on the balcony again, this time going over a final checklist of preparations for the clothing drive she and May would be hosting in a few weeks. He appeared behind her, almost identical to the way he'd looked the evening before.

"You're a sight for sore eyes, Love." he sighed, and she turned around to take in his disheveled appearance.

She frowned, moving over, and he slid in next to her again. "Are you ready to talk about it?" she asked. She didn't know what was going on, and she wouldn't add more worry to his shoulders by bothering him about it before he was ready to share, but she needed him to know that she was there for him, no matter what.

In response, he just shook his head, his lower lip trembling slightly, and buried his face into the crook of her neck. "We're still hoping we're wrong." was all he said, his lips tickling her skin as he spoke, the stubble on his face scratching against the soft, sensitive skin of her neck and sending shivers all throughout her body.

She stroked one hand through his hair, leaving the other as a warm, firm weight on his chest to ground him, and she said, softly, "It's alright, Maxon. If all else fails, we'll run away to Italy and live in a remote cottage in the middle of the forrest. I'll tend the garden to grow fruits and vegetables and you'll hunt the woods for meat. We'll sell whatever we have leftover at a local market, and use that money for anything else we might need."

"Will your family join us?" he pretended.

"Oh, of course. Kenna, James, and Astra will have the remote cottage right next door to ours. Gerad will be your hunting buddy, and Mom will help take care of all of the children."

"All of the children?" he asked.

"We'll have seven or eight, in this scenario."

"I _like_ this scenario." he grinned against her skin.

"And there will be Astra's brothers and sisters."

"Will she have any?"

"Oh, yes." America smiled, "You were swimming with Astra, you didn't hear."

"Hear what?" Maxon asked, pulling away from the warmth of her neck to peer up at her.

"Kenna is going to stop taking her tablets after Astra's birthday. They're going to try for another baby."

Maxon's smile at this news was radiant, "America, that's wonderful! I'm so happy!"

America pressed a firm kiss to his forehead, "So you'll get another little sidekick sometime in the next year and a half."

"A playmate near the same age as ours." Maxon grinned. "They'll be best friends."

"Along with baby Meri." America added. "Aspen and Lucy will have to come with us when we go into exile."

"Oh, they absolutely must." Maxon agreed, happily.

"So, you see? If worse comes to worst, I'll telephone Nicoletta tomorrow and arrange for our escape. She's the godmother of our unborn child, after all, she can't refuse us."

Maxon peered happily into her eyes, though his still looked tired and careworn. "Thank you, my love."

"This is what queens do. We protect our kings."

Maxon studied her closely and knew that she was serious, that she was there for him. He nodded, kissed the tip of her nose, and then tucked himself back into the crook of her neck.

She didn't see him at all the next day.

She went to bed alone, and it wasn't until well after three in the morning that she found him, fast asleep, beside her. It was finally Friday, the day of the _Report_. She hesitated to wake him, but she knew they had a deal.

"Maxon?" she whispered, gently rubbing his shoulder.

After a moment, she got an 'Mmmm' out of him.

"Maxon." she pressed a kiss to that shoulder.

"Mhmm." she got this time.

"Maxon, what time did you get in?"

"One." he sighed, rubbing his eyes aggressively. "What's wrong, Love?" he managed, eyes still closed.

"The baby's aggressively kicking, and I need popcorn."

"The baby's kicking _and _you need popcorn?" he chuckled. "How are we supposed to sleep in these conditions, I ask you." he rolled onto his side to face her, prying his eyes open, and then pressed a hand to her stomach. Sure enough, he was pounded for his efforts. "Stop that. You know the rules, baby." he lectured. "If you don't stop beating up your mother, I'm going to send you to her womb." he chuckled at his own joke, America guessed it was a play on 'send you to your room', and she rolled her eyes.

"_Maxon_." she pleaded.

"Not funny?"

"Not funny." she informed him.

"Fine. I shan't abdicate the throne for a life of professional comedy, then."

"Wise decision, Max."

"Popcorn?" he asked, sitting up and rubbing his hands through his messy hair.

"Yes, please."

"Butter?"

"And salt." she smiled. "Thank you."

"I'll be back in a minute." he stood and slid on his robe and matching slippers.

Just as he got to the door, she called out, "Wait!"

"I know, I know. Iced milk?" he asked.

America blushed. He was getting very good at anticipating her milk cravings. "Yes."

"I'll be back." and he disappeared through the door.

America shivered slightly, alone in the dark room, and took advantage of her time by tugging off her silk nightdress and finding one of Maxon's long-sleeved cardigans. Once she had it tugged over her belly and buttoned up, it made what she hoped was an enticing 'V', plummeting down to the beginning of the curve of her stomach. Much warmer now, she pushed the sleeves up to her wrists and climbed back into bed, braiding and unbraiding her hair as she waited for her husband to return.

She smelled it first, the delicious aroma of salt and butter, and then she heard his footsteps. He mumbled a few words to the guard outside their door, and the guard replied with a laugh, and then he appeared.

"I think Officer Weaver finds your cravings amusing." Maxon reported, bringing a silver tray containing a large bowl of popcorn, a glass of milk, and a small bowl of melted chocolate to the bed. "Or possibly just the hour at which I was sent to satisfy them."

America scooped up a handful of popcorn and stuffed it into her mouth, sighing in relief as the salt and butter danced on her tongue, before she pointed to the chocolate. "Wassat?" she asked, her cheeks puffed out.

Maxon chuckled at her and removed his robe, "The leftover chocolate from the chocolate-covered strawberries they served at dinner. The chef left it out with a note for me."

"A note for you?"

"He advised me to bring it up to you if you had any cravings in the night. He even left you a special little spoon." Maxon smiled pointing out the tiny, silver instrument next to the bowl. "However, I recommend that you try it with the popcorn."

"_With_ the popcorn?" America winced at the strange thought.

"Really? Says the woman who had chocolate and tomato crepes for lunch on Monday?"

America laughed, "Fine. I'll try your weird chocolate and popcorn confection."

"Good." Maxon said, collapsing into bed next to her and stealing a handful of popcorn for himself. "And I shall leave a personal note for the chef, thanking him for his kind consideration."

America carefully spooned a small dollop of the rich, creamy chocolate onto a handful of popcorn kernels and then delicately placed one piece in her mouth. She blinked as the sweet and salty flavors combined on her tongue, "Oh my God!" she exclaimed, quickly stuffing the rest of her handful in her mouth and immediately pouring the contents of the bowl of chocolate into the bowl of popcorn. "Maxon, that's delicious!"

He tiredly smiled up at her, watching her devour the snack and drink thirstily from the milk he brought her. "I missed you today, Ames."

America paused her gorging to study him, then winced as she received a particularly strong kick from the baby. "What's going on, Maxon?" she asked, setting aside her milk and using both of her hands to massage her bump, hoping to settle the baby down.

Maxon sighed heavily and threw one of his arms over his eyes, taking his time before replying, "We got a lead on where K is getting all of his money from."

"That's great news." America said, surprised at his reaction. "How?"

"The English contingent put together a list of names, people who traveled out of Angeles to Carolina in the week leading up to Kota's murder. They investigated every single damn name on the list to come up with the most likely candidate."

"That's incredible."

"Apparently, it wasn't as difficult as it sounds. A lot of the suspects had families, or were well-established in their line of work, or both. There were only a handful of singles, with no real source of employment to account for the expense of the plane ticket."

"So we know who he is now? We know where to find him?"

"Well, we know one of his assumed names. We still don't have any clue what he looks like. Once we figure out what he looks like, looking _for_ him will be a lot easier."

"Still, this sounds like good news." America said, warily. "What am I missing?"

"The source of this money." he sighed. "Love, do you remember one of our balcony discussions from early in the spring? I mentioned the Loyalists to you."

America furrowed her brow, thinking hard. It sounded familiar, but the baby was distracting her with the tantrum it was throwing in her stomach. "Remind me?"

"Twos loyal to my father, willing to donate large sums of money to the Southern rebels in hopes of—"

"Overthrowing you and buying enough influence to choose their own king. Someone with your father's view of the world?"

"What they don't know is that, of course, the rebels have no intentions of letting money buy influence in whatever new regime they devise."

"I remember now. These are people who think that the New Asian war should never have ended, who miss the backbreaking poverty the Eights used to live in."

Maxon nodded. "That's what we thought. And we were right, to an extent." he sat up and leant against the headboard so that they could see each other face to face. "There are still some Loyalist Twos out there, but not as many as there were this time last year. The fact is, my policies are improving the economy for everyone. My trade negotiations mean that coffers are overflowing throughout Illéa, and many of these Loyalist Twos are reluctantly abandoning their stake in the rebellion."

America bit her lip nervously and switched from clockwise to counterclockwise strokes on her belly. "I'm sorry, Maxon, that sounds like very good news to me."

"It is, Love. It is." he promised, but he sounded devastated. "It's just, we have learned that Twos are not the main source of revenue for the rebels. They are supplementary. The main investment in my deposing is coming from a foreign country."

America breathed out slowly, and inhaled just as carefully, turning this news over in her mind. "That sounds like an act of war."

"It would have to be, if we made news of it public." Maxon said, grimly. "Any attempt on my life by a foreign leader is a constitutionally mandated act of war. Gregory Illéa did not take that kind of thing lightly."

"…This isn't like New Asia. I had a long discussion with Empress Jiaying when the peace treaty was signed, she has no desire to raise her babies in the midst of war, and the Emperor feels the same way."

Maxon shook his head disconsolately, "It wasn't New Asia."

"Oh." America said, feeling nothing but relief and baby-kicks for a moment. Then the dread set in. "Then who?"

His answer came so softly, she almost missed it. "Swendway."

America's heart shattered painfully in her chest. "No. There has to be some kind of mistake, Maxon."

"There's no mistake." he said. "The money is coming from Swendway."

"From a citizen?"

"No. From my cousins." he said, darkly.

America shook her head, "Queen Ragna adored your mother, Maxon, she would never want you killed."

"Queen Ragna would not. But my cousin, King Thorvald?" he shook his head. "Thorvald and my father had a lot in common, and he is descended directly from Katherine Illéa de Monpezat. He views every deviation I make from Gregory Illéa's laws as flat-out treason."

"He has no right, he's not Illéan."

"Katherine was." Maxon shook his head. "He believes that, if I fall, a Swendish successor will be inevitable, because August's claim to the throne is highly contestable and Gregory Illéa's only other descendants are in Swendway, born of Katherine."

America shook her head, stunned. "I met him in the Selection, he was at our wedding."

"I know." Maxon frowned.

"Are you _sure_ about this?" America asked, still not wanting to believe it.

"We're quietly seeking outside confirmation, building a stockpile of evidence before we do anything else. But, yes. We know it's him."

America crawled over the bed and drew herself to his side. He wrapped an arm around her and rested his head atop hers with a heavy sigh.

"I'm so sorry, Maxon."

"So am I. Just _once_, couldn't my family behave like a normal family? Why do all of my blood relatives have to be so maniacal?"

America steered their joined hands to her rumbling belly. "I think the baby is offended by that."

"Sorry, baby." he didn't seem to mean it. "But you're the one who woke your mother up with a violent tantrum. You're not helping your case." he added as an afterthought, allowing a hint of amusement in his tone.

"And don't forget, Adele's family all _adore_ you. They are your blood relatives, too."

"They don't count. They're Mother's relatives, they have her goodness in them."

"So do you." America reassured him.

"I don't know." Maxon shook his head. "How is it possible that there's so much corruption in one family? My father always eschewed the rumors about my grandmother murdering King Justin, but now I'm not so sure. King Justin had a lot of the same ideas I have for reform, and he died when he was my age. It sounds a lot like an inside job to me."

"Don't let yourself think that way, Maxon."

"It's in me, America, all of that bile and power-hungry madness, it's all inside of me, lying dormant in my DNA." he was on the verge of tears. "I'm just waiting for the day I snap and become every bit the monster I've inherited from my ancestors."

America very carefully straddled his lap so that she could look him in the eyes. She was so close that her belly pressed into the hard line of his stomach, and he could feel the baby kicking, too.

"You are a _good man_, Maxon Schreave, and a great king. You are ten times the king your father was."

"Ames—" he tried to argue.

"No." she shut him down. "Do you really think I would have married you if you had a malicious bone in your body?"

"I suppose not, but—"

"But your temper?" she guessed. He nodded. She laughed. "Nothing in this world makes you angrier than I do. Because you care _so _much about me. If you didn't care, you'd never manage the stamina for the knockdown, blowout arguments we've had in the past. I've seen every angle of that temper, and there is nothing monstrous or evil about it. That kind of… treachery isn't born, it's made, Maxon. Thorvald wasn't plotting to usurp the Illéan throne from the moment he was born, he was raised that way."

"I was raised by my _father_—"

"You were raised by your mother, and, as I understand it, several excellent Palace nannies. Your father, from what I understand, was hands-off until it was time to start training you for your future position as King."

America watched as his brow furrowed while he considered this. Tears sprung to her eyes and she pressed a firm kiss to that brow, "I love you so much, Maxon. You are your own man, you're a wonderful husband and you're going to be a _fantastic _father. You're the best thing that has _ever_ come out of the Schreave bloodline, I assure you."

He shut his eyes hard, fighting to claim control of his emotions, but a tear still managed to escape. America carefully brushed it away with her thumb. "What if you're wrong?" he whispered. His greatest fear.

"I'm _not_ wrong." she cooed soothingly, pulling his head forward to rest on her shoulder. "I'm not wrong." she repeated, in a whisper. "I've seen you with Gerad, with Astra, and with Meri. You are warm and giving, and you are a bottomless pit of love. And they didn't have to do anything to earn your love, you just _love _them. Unconditionally. There is nothing they could ever do that would get you to stop. I'm sorry your father never loved you that way, he should have. He was _wrong_. But I'm glad that, in spite of his mistakes, you became an amazing, caring man who loves without restriction or restraint."

Maxon inhaled deeply, taking in the smell of her, and then he lifted his head, "Thank you, Love."

America used her fingers to delicately trace the features of his face. "I'm so sorry about Thorvald. But we'll take care of him, and choke off the rebel's money supply, and show the world that you are not a king to be trifled with."

Maxon smiled weakly at this, studying her face very closely. "Stavros is carefully considering our next move. If we act too soon then K will panic, and a desperate madman is not what we want on our hands. We also want to keep this information close, a constitutionally mandated war with Swendway is the last thing we _ever_ want. It would tear our country apart, support for the old ways of the Illéas versus support for my new order."

"Okay." America nodded. "So we'll just keep watching Thorvald and see what he does?"

"For now. He doesn't know we're watching, so there's a lot we can learn about our supposed 'ally' in the mean time. And then, when the timing is right, we'll address the issue privately. There will be a lot of strategy meetings before that point, though, we need to be so very careful about how we handle this."

America shook her head angrily and fumed, "Just send me to Swendway with a sharp knife tucked away in my dress, I'll stab King Thorvald in the chest and rip out his heart to make breakfast."

Maxon's eyebrows rose high on his head. "That… would be the kind of international incident we're looking to avoid, my love."

"Fine." she breathed. "But you're _my _King. And I'm not going to let _anyone_ touch you."

Maxon's chocolate brown eyes glittered at this. "Is it possible you finally understand how I feel every time K threatens you?"

She was done. She didn't want to think about K or the rebels or Swendway or anything anymore. She grabbed his hand, guided it over to the chocolate bowl, and dipped his pointer finger into what was left of the dessert, carefully scraping it along the sides of the bowl to amass more chocolate.

"You need to start inviting me to those strategy meetings, Maxon." America said, pulling his hand back towards her.

"Why?" Maxon asked, watching her closely.

"Because as much as I want to be involved, the rebels and the Swendish are no longer invited into our bedroom." she said, and to make her point, she stuck his finger into her mouth and licked off all of the chocolate.

Maxon looked like he had heart-failure, but he managed a choked response of, "Understood." Before removing his hand from her mouth and hungrily capturing her lips with his own.

* * *

"Your Majesty, you look radiant this evening." Gavril complimented. He always seemed to sparkle when the studio lights were on, but America had come to learn that there was artifice involved with his on-screen persona. He was a different, softer version of himself when the lights and the cameras were directed somewhere else.

"Thank you, Gavril, I'm happy to be here." America replied, arranging her dress very carefully around her bump. As per Gavril's instructions, Mary actually doubled the layer of fabric in the part of her dress that hung over her stomach so that her now six-months-pregnant belly was padded to look even larger than usual.

"And your Majesty," Gavril said, turning to address Maxon. "As always, It's a pleasure to have you with us."

"Thank you, Gavril." Maxon said, turning on that megawatt smile for the cameras and the studio audience. He was wearing concealer around his eyes tonight to hide the dark circles from his stressful days and sleepless nights, but America didn't think anyone but she would notice.

"First of all, before we do anything else, I want to express to you, your Majesty," Gavril said, addressing America, "How deeply sorry all of Illéa was to hear about the passing of your brother, Kota. You and the entire royal family have our deepest sympathies during this time of mourning."

Passing. Kota's passing. Such a peculiar way to phrase the concept. Kota didn't pass anywhere, he was murdered in cold blood. Passing. Honestly.

"Thank you, Gavril, we greatly appreciate the support we've been shown by all of the citizens of Illéa during this difficult time and we thank you." she said as Maxon 'discreetly' took her hand to offer her comfort. She'd practiced that line about fifteen times with Silvia before the live show, and she'd quoted the rehearsed version verbatim. Somewhere, off camera, Silvia was definitely directing a thoroughly satisfied smile toward America.

"Losing Kota has been hard for all of us." Maxon contributed with his well-planned line, "However we've banded together as a family during this time and we're stronger now than we've ever been before, though we grieve for Kota every day, and his contributions to the art world will be sorely, sorely missed."

"Yes, they certainly will be." Gavril nodded sadly. "But we did not come here tonight to discuss the great loss our nation and your family have jointly endured at the death of Kota Singer, that is what last week was for. This week, we're here to discuss _the future_." And when Gavril said 'the future', he looked pointedly to America's newly prominent belly. "Your Majesty, the baby seems to have grown by leaps and bounds since the last time we saw you on the _Report_." he said to America.

"Yes, this baby is growing like a weed," America smiled, tracing the curve of her stomach to outline it for the cameras. "But the head physician here at the Palace has assured both Maxon and myself that this growth is perfectly normal. The baby is healthy and strong, and that is something to celebrate."

"Yes, ma'am, it is." Gavril agreed heartily before turning his attention to Maxon, sitting next to her. "And, King Maxon, have the middle-of-the-night snack runs subsided?"

Maxon met America's eyes, clearly thinking of his popcorn run earlier that morning. "Not greatly, Gavril. But it makes me beyond happy to be participating, as I've mentioned before, and I enjoy the time we get to spend together in the early hours of the morning, just the three of us."

The audience gave a collective sigh at his words 'the three of us', and America bit back a chuckle.

"The last time we were able to sit down and talk, Queen America, you were just entering your... fourth month, was it?" Gavril asked, as if he didn't know.

"Yes, it was."

"And now here we are, two months later, and you are absolutely glowing."

"Isn't she?" Maxon bragged, grinning over at her.

"Tell me, other than the cravings, how are you feeling?" Gavril asked.

"I feel healthy. I've had a few aches and pains, but that's all perfectly normal. More than anything, the jitters are starting to set in. For the longest time, I've been thinking of this baby in the context of it being Maxon's heir. But now, as it dominates more and more of my body, it's really sinking in that this baby is also… well, a _baby_. And in three months, Maxon and I will have a brand new tiny human to care for all on our own."

"Your mother will be here." Maxon reminded her, gently. "And your older sister, Kenna. We won't be alone. Aunt Adele has even written me expressing her wishes to come and meet the new baby in-person, we could ask her to stay for a little while and teach us what she knows." he smiled at this.

"That would be helpful, indeed." Gavril smiled. "I wish I could be of service, myself, your Majesties, but I'm afraid I know absolutely nothing useful about childrearing." and the studio audience chuckled appreciatively at this reference to Gavril's infamous life as one of the most eligible bachelors in Angeles.

Maxon laughed and played along, "Oh, we'll have you bouncing one of ours on each knee before too long, Uncle Gavril." and the audience enthusiastically laughed and cheered at this thought.

"I greatly look forward to it, sir." Gavril beamed before looking down at the cue cards in his hands as a physical indication for the audience that they were changing topic. The cue cards were, in fact, blank. Gavril never needed them. "Now then, Queen America, have you been feeling the baby move around very much?"

"I think the better question is, 'does the baby ever stop moving'." America smiled.

"Oh, dear." Gavril chuckled. "And does our little prince or princess kick as well?"

"Mostly when I'm trying to sleep." America laughed. "Or, apparently, when I'm appearing on live episodes of the _Ill__é__a Capital Report,_ the baby has been kicking me this whole time."

"Really?" Gavril asked, enchanted, and America could see a truly genuine excitement behind his eyes. They hadn't scripted this part, but apparently the baby was a natural performer and knew when to turn on the charm, even from within her stomach.

"It's true. Would you like to feel?" America offered, holding out her hand.

"How could I pass up such an offer?" Gavril grinned, placing his hand delicately in America's. He leant forward in his chair so that he could reach her where she sat on the love seat next to Maxon. She gently placed his hand on the side of her stomach, coincidentally nearest Camera Two, which was the camera currently shooting them, and waited a moment. It only took a few seconds of the audience holding their collective breath for the baby to let loose a kick, and for Gavril to gasp and grin in appreciation. "How absolutely mesmerizing."

"Yes, we have a _very_ active little prince or princess. We'll be enrolling it in soccer lessons the second it's born." America smiled.

"King Maxon, it's amazing you manage to get anything done. In your position, I'd sit next to Queen America with my hand on her stomach all day long." Gavril grinned as he was kicked again, and then again.

"It's tempting, believe me." Maxon smiled, and America and Maxon shared an affectionate gaze in a moment that they both knew would be on the cover of every magazine printed in Illéa for the next week. Gavril Fadaye looking elated with his hand on the royal baby bump as the King and Queen stare, dreamy eyed, into each other's loving gazes.

Finally, America turned back to Gavril and said, "So you see, Gavril. There's a _real_ baby in there."

"There certainly is." Gavril said, releasing her stomach and straightening up again.

"A real baby that I will be feeding and clothing, and Maxon will be changing all of the diapers of, in just three months' time."

The audience laughed, and Maxon made a face as if he was slowly catching on to what she'd said, "Hey, wait a second." Maxon grinned. "I'm not changing _all_ of the diapers."

America waved her hand as if unconcerned, mimicking what she'd seen Nicoletta do many times, "We'll sort out the details later," and the audience roared with laughter. "The point is, it can be a little overwhelming at times."

"That's certainly understandable, your Majesty." Gavril assured her. "I've heard many first-time mothers express the same apprehension. I'm sure the mothers of Illéa watching at home tonight remember, perfectly, what it is that you're feeling."

Oh, that was deftly done. He'd strengthened the empathy the people of Illéa were feeling for the royal family right before the shift in programming that would lead to Maxon's amendment announcement.

"Yes, I'm sure they do." America smiled. "And I'm sure the currently expectant mothers of Illéa know exactly what I'm going through. It's helpful to remember that I'm not alone."

"On that note," Gavril smiled, "Our time is up for this week. But you'll be with us again very soon, won't you, your Majesty?"

"Yes, I will be." America agreed. "I'll be back in two weeks time, along with my younger sister, May Singer, to discuss our clothing drive initiative. It's going to be a very exciting event that people from every province will be able to participate in."

"We can't wait to hear all about it, and, of course, to see how much you've grown in two weeks time." Gavril smiled.

"Exponentially, I'm sure." America shook her head as if dismayed, and the studio audience chuckled.

"Thank you for joining us this evening, Queen America. Now, I'm going to turn it over to Royal Adviser Cordon for an update on King Maxon's infrastructure improvement initiative."

They were discussing one of Maxon's most popular initiatives across all castes before Maxon's solo interview. It would fill the audience with a feeling of support and agreement before introducing them to this new idea. The lights dimmed on them, and rose on the other side of the studio, where Adviser Cordon stood behind a podium, and when the red light behind the camera aimed at him turned on, he began reading his speech, clearly and authoritatively.

Maxon and Gavril stood as stagehands came in to remove the loveseat and replace it with a single for Maxon. Gavril whispered a few murmured instructions to Maxon, who nodded and then turned his amused attention to America, who was struggling to stand up.

"Ames?" he whispered.

America blushed, the weight of her stomach and the softness of the loveseat making it difficult to stand. She'd tried twice and failed.

"Don't make me ask." America begged, and Maxon grinned, offering her both of his hands before pulling her up and out of the way of the chuckling stagehands.

"Silvia's waiting for you backstage, Love." Maxon said.

"Okay." America nodded. "Just—"

Gavril interrupted, "One minute, your Majesties."

"Thank you." Maxon said, before turning back to America. "What is it, Ames?"

"Thank you." America said, sincerely. "Thank you for doing this. You know it means the world to me, more than the world."

Maxon smiled, "I'm proud to do this. I hate that it took this long, it should have happened generations ago. It's my pleasure to do this for our girls, Ames, I promise."

America thought back to that night, alone in the safe room, when she'd first mentioned this idea to him. She thought about how far he'd come since his initial reaction to allowing his daughter to follow him to the throne, how far she'd come since her refusal to have children until the law was changed. She brushed a hand over the wiggling baby in her distended stomach. "I love you, Maxon. I'm so proud of you."

Maxon beamed at this, "Thank you, Ames." he said.

"Places, your Majesty." Gavril said, returning from getting his makeup touched up and taking his seat again.

Maxon kissed America quickly and then sat in the empty chair turned at an angle toward Gavril's. America squeezed Maxon's hand one more time and then hurried off to join Silvia in the wings.

"Well done, your Majesty." Silvia smiled reassuringly. "That was a lovely performance."

"Thank you." America whispered.

"Was the baby really kicking, or was that improvised for the show?"

America answered this question by delicately taking her closest adviser's hand and placing it where the baby was still rumbling around. "See? There's a real Prince or Princess in there." America smiled, but she was distracted. The lights were rising on Maxon and Gavril, and the most important part of the _Report _episode was beginning.

She was just as nervous, standing backstage, as Maxon must have been in front of the cameras. Her palms were sweaty, her mouth was dry, and she was shaking. Silvia tore her eyes and hand away from America's belly, expression still awed and reverent as she placed a hand reassuringly on America's shoulder. They'd both come a long way since the beginning of Maxon's Selection. "He's been trained for this kind of thing his whole life." Silvia reassured her as Gavril welcomed the nation back for a one-on-one chat with the King. "He's going to be excellent."

America nodded, thankfully, and then returned her attention to Maxon.

"So, your Majesty, I'm so pleased that we have this time to sit down together and really discuss your impending fatherhood."

"So am I. This is one of the happiest times of my life, Gavril, and I am so glad to be able to share it with the citizens of Illéa, my second family. You've all watched me grow, since before I was even born, and you watched me fall in love with my amazing wife. And now, as I start a family of my own, you're right here with me, and I couldn't be more thrilled." Some part of this was true, America knew. On some level, Maxon really did see the citizens as a sort of omnipresent, distant family member.

"How have you been preparing for the arrival of the baby, your Majesty? Last we spoke, you were mostly fetching creative confections for the Queen."

Maxon grinned, "I've rearranged my schedule significantly, so as to make myself more available to my wife. My schedule can be hectic, but I like to be there for her when she needs support, emotional or physical. There are many things I delegate as King, but I don't like delegating her foot rubs or our long dinner conversations."

"It's fair to say that your priorities have shifted, then?"

"Very much so, Gavril. For my whole life, I've been the future of this nation. Everything my father, my mother, and I did was in preparation for my rule. And now, for the first time, I have truly realized that I'm simply care-taking. I'm lovingly preparing this nation for the time when I hand it over to my heir. I've really started to think about what kind of country I want my child to inherit."

"Has it had an impact on policy in any way so far?" Gavril asked.

"Not greatly. Not yet. It's such a humbling thought, I've been taking my time with it. I'm proud of my initiatives; Infrastructure, Food, and Southern Cleanup. My heir will inherit a clean, strong, well-fed nation. I'm proud of America's initiatives as well, she's on a crusade to improve the standard of living for every single citizen of Illéa, regardless of caste."

"And speaking of castes, you and Queen America have made equality amongst your citizens a trademark of your reign."

"It's true. However, it's important to note that we don't think that being equal means that everyone has the same wealth. We believe that true equality means that every citizen has the same _chance_. We believe _a__ny_ person should have the right to achieve _any_ goal, so long as they work hard. Castes do not encourage our kind of equality of opportunity. In fact, there are many legal restrictions that hold our citizens back from opportunities for advancement."

"To what are you referring, your Majesty?" Gavril egged him on.

Maxon leant back in his chair, pensive. "I want to be a King for the people. _All _of the people, Gavril. But I can't help but notice that so many opportunities in life are exclusively extended to the _men_ in our society. I lie awake at night and place my hand over my growing child, feel it move and kick... you've felt it now, you know what an amazing, miraculous sensation it is."

"I can certainly attest to that." Gavril nodded, earnestly.

"I feel my child move, and I realize that it could be a girl. I could be feeling my baby daughter squirm and kick, and I can hardly stand to think that she'll be born into a world where there are certain occupations women are forbidden from holding. Chief among my personal concerns, Gavril, a woman cannot be my heir."

There was silence. Then a hushed, uncertain murmur in the audience.

"What are you saying, King Maxon?"

"Only that I can't imagine sending that baby, my possible baby girl, to a foreign country in nineteen years, to marry a foreign prince, her age or otherwise. But as the laws stand now, I would be forced to do so. She would never have the chance to marry for love, as I did. It's not _fair_, and it's not right. And how could I look her in the eye and tell her that, because America has just given birth to a beautiful, healthy baby boy, she will no longer be the next ruling monarch of this country. That she's lost her birthright, not by mistake, but by virtue of her gender? How do I explain to her that it's only because she's a girl? And when she asks me if being a girl means she's not fit to rule, what do I tell her? I believe, in my heart, that women are just as fit as we men are. They're smart, strong, loving creatures and it would be an honor to have one succeed me to the throne. I can't really consider myself the 'Equality' King without addressing this major problem at home. It would be hypocrisy, it would all be a lie."

"I do see what you're saying, your Majesty, but what solution do you propose? Women have never been able to inherit property in Illéa, and though the rest of us don't have titles, wouldn't titles and property be legally equivalent if we did? How could a woman inherit property or titles in this country, as the law stands now?"

"It's a mess." Maxon nodded in agreement. "But I've spent a good deal of time considering the matter. I've consulted the greatest minds I have at my disposal, not just my advisers, but foreign dignitaries as well. And I have come up with the beginnings of a solution."

"Please explain." Gavril nodded, encouragingly.

"This December, before the birth of our prince or princess, during the biannual formal legislative session, I intend to introduce an amendment to the laws of inheritance that would allow any natural born princess to have the same rights as her brothers. She would _not_ be forced into a diplomatic marriage as a teenager, she would be allowed to choose her husband for herself. She could even have a Selection, if she wanted." The crowd murmured excitedly at this, though they were still reserved and thoughtful. "And if that baby we're all so eagerly anticipating happens to be a girl, then she would have the same right as my son would to inherit my throne. Furthermore, once this amendment is on the books, it will clear the way for magistrates on a local level to reinterpret land inheritance for women, and should even clear the way for women to hold positions of employment that they were previously barred from."

There was stunned silence.

"What an impressive and dare I say, progressive move, your Majesty."

"I believe so." Maxon nodded.

"Your child, boy or girl, would be lucky to inherit an Illéa that benefits from the talents of _all_ of its citizens, and makes the most of what they are able to contribute to society."

"That is the idea." Maxon nodded. "If my baby is anything like its mother, it will be smart, funny, quick-witted, and talented. I could never waste such potential just because that baby might be a girl."

"You are a wise man, King Maxon."

"Thank you, Gavril."

"I believe that's all the time we have for the _Report_ this week." Gavril commenced with his usual sign off, but America wasn't paying attention. She couldn't even hear him. The cameras shut down, there was the usual applause, perhaps more hesitant than usual, and then the lights came up signaling it was time for the audience to leave.

America rushed to Maxon, arriving just in time for him to finish shaking Gavril's hand. She launched herself into his arms and hugged him tightly to her chest. "Thank you, thank you, _thank you_, that was perfect, Maxon, that was amazing, thank you..." she whispered over and over, not loosening her hold on him for a second.

They stayed there until the audience was gone, then the crew, then everyone else. They stayed there, holding each other, waiting for the fallout.


	43. Chapter 43

America and Maxon allowed themselves to sleep in, the morning after the _Report_ announcement. The walls of the Palace did not crumble down with the news of the amendment, in fact, the entire world seemed eerily calm. The nation was in shock. Maxon would have security briefings and updates all afternoon, and America would be in her office with May hammering out clothing drive details, but the King and Queen were going to spend the first half of the day together.

Therefore, neither of them were overly-thrilled when, as they lay fast asleep together past 8:00 AM for the first time in months, there was a loud knock on Maxon's bedroom door to awaken them.

Maxon did not bother to open his eyes as Justin, his butler, stepped in. "What?!" Maxon snapped.

"I'm so sorry, sir, but her Majesty has a phone call waiting in her office."

America groaned, "_No_… For the first time in my _entire _pregnancy, the baby and I are sleeping at the same time! Leave us alone!"

"I'm sorry, ma'am, according to the secretary on-call, _she_ sounded rather insistent."

"She?" Maxon asked.

"Lady Kriss Ambers, your Majesty. She's on hold, in the Queen's office."

America sighed heavily. She couldn't ignore an insistent call from Kriss, even if she wanted to. But she could grouse about it. "Your damned ex-girlfriend, Maxon." she said as she struggled to get her whole belly out of bed.

"I know." he said, rubbing his eyes with a sigh.

"I'm holding you responsible for this." she complained, disappearing into her closet.

"I know." he sat up and ran a hand through his hair. "Thank you, Justin."

Justin bowed and disappeared, closing their door behind him.

They helped each other get ready, Maxon zipping up the back of her green maternity dress, and America adjusting his tie for him so that it lay straight down his chest. Maxon even helped her into her stockings because she was having some trouble getting around her belly to her toes when she was seated.

"Your baby is officially a nuisance." America sighed as Maxon knelt before her and reverently pulled her stockings up. He was used to pulling them down, usually in a rush to get her undressed, so this made a nice change of pace, he thought. He helped her to her feet and she tugged them up the rest of the way.

"You should ask Mary for some thigh highs, they'll be much easier to manage." Maxon suggested.

America paused for a moment in adjusting the top of the maternity stockings over her belly band and stared at him. "Where did you learn about thigh highs, Maxon?"

Maxon blushed and averted his eyes for a moment before looking up at her sheepishly. "How bad does it sound if I say, from my mother?"

America smiled, adjusting her dress and slipping into her heels, "It only sounds a _little_ like you were watching her undress."

"I wasn't!" Maxon objected.

America laughed, "I know that, sweet King." She placed a hand on his cheek as she said this and drew him in for a kiss. "Let's go see what your girlfriend wants and then eat breakfast. I want pancakes, and I want them _immediately._"

"Ex-girlfriend." Maxon reminded her, offering her his arm and opening the door for her.

Kriss was almost hysterically anxious when America answered the phone call.

"Kriss?"

"Oh my God! America!" Kriss exclaimed. She was almost audibly pacing the floor of her house, America could so clearly imagine the anxiety on her friend's face.

"What is it? What happened?"

"What happened? You! Your, you and Maxon, that, the…"

"Take a breath." America laughed. "Maxon, go into your office and get on this call." Maxon nodded and hurried over, swinging the doors that connected their offices wide open and leaving them that way in his wake. America could see the moment Maxon picked up the phone, while leaning casually against his desk, and hit the correct buttons to join America on her call. "Alright, Kriss, Maxon and I are here. What's going on?"

"The inheritance amendment!" Kriss exclaimed. "I had no idea, America, I'm so sorry!"

"Sorry for…" America was lost.

"The way I behaved when our public school initiative was tabled. I was monstrous, I had no idea. If I'd known that you were really doing this—"

"Didn't I mention that it had something to do with removing the restrictions on princesses?"

"You mentioned something vague about it, but I didn't understand! I didn't know you were pregnant when we talked, and I was _very_ angry, and I didn't put your pregnancy together with your amendment idea until Maxon's announcement last night! I'm the biggest idiot in the world!God, America, this is _amazing_."

"When I talked to you about a possible amendment last spring, you thought it was a dangerous idea."

"I thought you shouldn't strong-arm Maxon into anything, and it _is _a dangerous idea, America, but it might be one of the greatest accomplishments of your entire reign, and I want to help. I understand now, why you have to wait to institute schools. You can't possibly do both at the same time, and the amendment has to come before that baby does. Let me help, the better this process goes, the easier it will be for all of our future projects, for libraries and schools and childcare for working mothers—"

"You want to help us with this amendment?" Maxon clarified, surprised and pleased.

"Yes! I _never_ would have had the guts to do something like this, but I'm so proud of you for doing it!"

Maxon and America smiled at each other from their respective offices. "Alright." Maxon said. "I'm going to give you Gavril's personal phone number. He'll give you some public relations and publicity tasks. You should also be seen coming to the Palace with the rest of the Elite. Elise works here now, and Marlee still lives here, but we should execute a well-photographed 'reunion' anyway."

"I have a council meeting in two weeks." America said. "I'll make sure to invite the rest of the Elite, too. Before my meeting starts, we'll all be photographed together. And afterward, Kriss, you and the others will join Georgia Illéa, Silvia, and Mary in my meeting."

"Mary? Your maid?" Kriss asked, surprised.

"Yes, she's the head of my household staff and she has a place of honor on my council." America said, almost defiantly.

"Of course she would." Kriss' voice held a smile in it, but she wasn't mocking. She was being sincerely affectionate, reminding America why it was so hard to dislike her.

"We'll be discussing a final public relations push to achieve the approval ratings Maxon and I will need to safely enact the amendment. That's where your brain will really come in handy. Will you join us?"

"_Of course_."

"Good. Thank you. I'll send the official invitations to all of you later today. How does that sound, Maxon?"

"Perfect. That will be brilliant. A united front, a show of support from some of this nation's most beloved celebrities. That's exactly what we need."

"Thank you, Kriss." America said. "Your support means the world to us."

"I'm just glad that I can do something to help."

After Maxon gave Gavril's contact information to Kriss, they hung up and he rejoined America in her office. "It looks like we have our old ally back." he smiled.

"Good. We really need all of the allies we can get."

* * *

Most of the next week was devoted to finishing up preparations for the clothing drive with May, although America did have a public appearance at a charity that raised money to buy musical instruments for children who could not otherwise afford them. She and her bump were photographed with lots of adorable children, and she was filmed playing a violin at the request of the children at the event, which pleased Gavril to no end.

There was also a medal-of-valor ceremony that she and Maxon hosted, Maxon in full uniform, the sight of which made America smile and blush at the same time. They honored twenty-five brave soldiers and guards who had distinguished themselves in the line of duty, and awarded one medal posthumously to a grieving widow and her three children. America hugged the woman closely, thanking her for her sacrifice. She didn't do this for the cameras, but the cameras caught the gesture anyway. Gavril swore it was good publicity. America didn't understand how any publicity that hinged on the death of a young husband and father of three adorable little children could possibly be considered 'good'.

According to Mr. Evander, the head researcher in the Palace's polling department, even though America and Maxon's joint favorable numbers were falling in the wake of Maxon's announcement, their unfavorable numbers were not rising. What that meant was that a lot of people simply did not know how to feel, those people were 'undecided'. This was relatively good news. It would be easier to sway people who hadn't made up their minds than it would be to change the minds of people who were firmly opposed to the amendment.

This also signaled a battle of sorts, for the hearts and minds of Illéan citizens. Once they were in favor of the amendment, they'd support Maxon and America, and the numbers would bounce back up again. There were already plenty of strong voices out there opposing the amendment, claiming it to be an affront to the foundations and traditions of the country. These voices stopped short of calling it treason, because to accuse the King of treason was, itself, treason. However, anything that gave people cause to identify with and relate to the rebels was a major problem. Particularly when it came to citizens with enough excess money to donate to the rebellion.

So, the Palace's job now, in an effort spearheaded by Gavril, was to drown out those opposing voices with a strong media campaign in favor of the amendment. This meant that America's council meeting was now more important than ever. She needed the help of these beloved, bright, intelligent women to come up with strategies to win over Illéan sentiment.

On the last morning in September, Maxon and America left for their offices at the same time of morning. They each prepared for the important meetings they'd be having later that day, and then they walked together to the front entrance of the Palace to greet America's guests.

They were halfway across the grand entryway, on their way to the marble staircase outside, when Maxon removed his arm from America's and stopped cold.

"What is it?" America asked.

"Keep walking." Maxon said, grinning.

"What? Why?"

"Just do it, please? I need to see something."

"About me?"

"Yes, keep walking, America." he laughed.

America frowned, but she turned and continued down the hallway. Several long moments later, Maxon started laughing.

"What?!" America demanded.

"I knew it! I knew you felt different on my arm."

"What are you talking about?" America demanded, hoping the threat of sleeping in separate bedrooms that night if he kept teasing her was clear in her tone.

He got the message and nodded, apology in his eyes, "My dearest love," Maxon couldn't keep the smile from his face. "You're waddling."

"I'm what?!"

"You're waddling."

"I am _not_."

"You are. You have a pregnancy waddle now."

"I…" America shook her head, took a few tentative steps and then sighed, frustrated. He was right. "What…"

Maxon hurried to catch up to her and then pulled her in for a kiss. "It's adorable. It makes me so happy."

"You're happy that your wife can't walk correctly?" she asked, incredulously.

"Yes. I want to keep you waddling for many, many years to come." he grinned down at her belly.

America sighed, her irritation subsiding at the adorable look on her husband's face. "Will you please escort me down the front stairs?" she asked, pointedly. "It's a little bit of a trust walk now that I can't actually see the steps below my feet."

"Of course." Maxon offered her his arm and she took it. "I'll have a word with the guards and make sure someone is always around to offer you an arm on staircases."

America shook her head as they continued, past the guards at attention, through the front doors, and out into the sunlight. "That's not necessary."

"I won't have my queen and future prince or princess tumbling down the stairs while a perfectly good guard stands sentry below and watches helplessly. I've seen you fall down stairs enough times to know that it could happen again, and I want you to set my mind at ease by allowing me to do this." Maxon reasoned.

America carefully felt her way down the stairway with Maxon at one side and the railing at the other. And even so, she was unsteady. She eyed the paparazzi at the front gate nervously, they were already taking pictures and she could just imagine the headlines if she lost her balance and tumbled down to the ground. "Fine. Have your lackeys walk me up and down the stairs for the next two and a half months, then, if you really don't think they have anything better to do."

"Better than protecting my wife and child, and the future of this monarchy? There is nothing better in all the world." Maxon smiled, patiently allowing her to set the pace as they descended.

Suddenly, paparazzi and official Palace photographers were both in a frenzy as four identical black cars arrived, one behind the other, and the gates to the Palace opened wide to greet them.

Marlee was in the first car, and was the first to exit and cross over to Maxon and America. She'd gone out to visit her parents the day before. Mr. and Mrs. Tames had recently moved to Angeles to be closer to Marlee and Kile, and Marlee had spent the previous night with them, mostly so that she could arrive with the rest of the Elite for the photo opportunity. She curtseyed to Maxon and America, then hugged each of them closely. "This is going to be great, America." Marlee promised her.

"I know it will be." America smiled bracingly. "But I'm still glad you'll be with me in that meeting."

"I've got your back." Marlee winked, and then she stepped down three steps, moving to the left of America and facing out, waiting for the others to arrive, be greeted, and join the lineup.

Elise was next, and she crossed over to Maxon and America with an air of purpose and importance. Becoming Maxon's official adviser on New Asian affairs had done amazing things for her confidence and carriage. She curtseyed deeply and America and Maxon pulled her in for a big hug, one at a time. Elise was, as usual, reserved, but she did offer America an approving, supportive smile. Although Elise would never be especially expressive with her emotions, she had a brilliant mind, and America knew that she was an excellent person to have on the team.

Elise stepped down the side of Marlee to await the others. Natalie was the next to arrive, now Natalie Francesca ever since her wedding shortly after the end of the Selection. In her right hand, she carried a single white rose with a black ribbon tied into a bow around the long stem. After she curtseyed, she turned to America for her hug and said, "I'm _so _sorry about your brother." before offering her the rose.

"Natalie… _Thank you._" America breathed, accepting the rose, stunned. She should have remembered sooner about Natalie's little sister. If there was anyone who knew what losing a sibling to the rebels was like, it was Natalie.

"If you ever need someone to talk to, I'm here." Natalie smiled bravely, before turning to Maxon for his hug. Then she took her place to the left of Elise and they waited.

It only took a moment for Kriss to elegantly exit her car, looking stunning in a navy blue suit dress, perfectly tailored to compliment her amazing curves, and a pair of white pumps that made her legs look striking. America gulped, suddenly self-conscious about every ounce she'd put on since becoming pregnant, even though it was _all_ baby. Kriss had come dressed to kill today, and though America knew the wardrobe decision had been made in an effort to support the amendment, she couldn't help but wonder if the tabloids tomorrow would be full of headlines about King Maxon making the wrong choice when he chose America over Kriss.

"Wow." America gulped as Kriss approached and curtseyed. "You look _amazing_, Kriss."

"I knew there'd be cameras." she blushed, standing up and sweeping America into a big hug. "But look at you, America! Look at your belly!" Kriss laughed, pulling back to take in America's appearance. "May I?" she asked, holding her hand out to America's stomach.

"Of course." America smiled. Why hadn't she worn a more slimming dress today? And would an extra inch on her heels really have killed her? Well, the answer to that was, _probably_, because her feet had been destructively painful lately, but still. It would have been worth it to look even remotely regal compared to the goddess standing before her.

Kriss placed a hand delicately on America's stomach and grinned, "Hello, my little one!" she said, bending down to speak to the bump directly. "I'm your Aunt Kriss. I love you already, and I can't wait to meet you!" With that, she stood and turned to address Maxon.

This was the first time America had looked at Maxon since Kriss made her appearance. Now she was fighting back a queasy, anxious feeling in the pit of her stomach. Maxon's expression was so _soft_ as he warmly embraced Kriss. He had a look in his eyes, as they met Kriss', that she'd only ever seen before when he'd looked into America's eyes. There was still real love there, even if they'd both moved on and made other choices in their lives.

For a sickening moment, America thought about what it would be like to be in Kriss' shoes. To have Kriss standing here, next to Maxon, as his queen. To be embracing Maxon after everything, and to still feel love for him even after he'd married and started a family with another woman. Would she be doing as well as Kriss was? Probably not. When it came down to it, Kriss was stronger than America would ever be because Kriss could do all of this without Maxon at her side.

The baby kicked her hard, waking her up from her nightmare. Kriss was out of Maxon's arms and standing below, beside the rest of the Elite.

"Are you alright, Love? You look a little pale." Maxon said, as they turned forward to pose for the cameras.

"Just wishing I looked half as good as Kriss does right now." America smiled, grimly. "I feel like a walking balloon."

"You are _beautiful,_ my love. Even more so for carrying my child within you. That's as far as I will entertain those absurd, self-deprecating thoughts of yours."

"You're not sorry you chose me and not that vision of loveliness?" America asked, chancing a glance his way.

He looked at her sternly from the corner of his eye, then returned his gaze front and center. "Right now, you're making it sound like you think I chose you based on looks alone. That's insulting to me, Love, and it's not like you. How could you really think I would be so shallow?" his tone was irritated to say the least.

He was right, she realized. She wasn't being fair to him at all. "I'm sorry, Maxon. It's the baby bump talking. Can we blame it on hormones?"

"Fine. But for the record, I have never, _never_ been happier with my choice. _You__'__re_ my queen, and I love you like hell."

She squeezed his hand in gratitude and then released him. He turned and headed off into the Palace, and the Elite followed America up the stairs after him.

It had been a long time since America had felt Celeste's absence so keenly. Celeste would have made an amazing advocate for this amendment. She would have been one of America's closest friends, one of her dearest advisers, on this project in particular. Even though her friend was gone, it was nice to know for certain that America was doing work that would have made her proud. Hopefully, with so many people who knew Celeste gathered together in one room, they'd manage to sort out what her advice would have been.

The Queen's Council meeting was taking place in America's office this time, because America was sick of being relegated to conference room B. No, there weren't as many people on her council as there were on Maxon's, so sure, conference room A would be almost obscenely spacious for their purposes, but practicality wasn't what was annoying America. It was the attitude that some of Maxon's advisers took, that anything happening in _conference room B _was infinitely less important than the goings on in _conference room A_. Like the size of the room or the letter on the door were in any way relevant to the work happening inside. So Mary, Paige, and Esther had spent the last half hour rearranging the furniture in America's office to form a circle stemming out from America's desk, where she'd be sitting. They'd brought in a few chairs from the unoccupied Prince's study, and a cart of teas, coffees, cakes, and cookies (and just for America, a spinach, carrot, and pickle omelette topped with white cheese).

Silvia, Mary, and Georgia were already waiting in her office, and Silvia was to the point of nostalgic tears as she greeted the rest of the Elite, each with their own quick embrace. It was the first time all of her girls were gathered together in one room since America's wedding, and she was ecstatic to have them reunited again.

"Thank you all for coming today." America began, taking her seat behind her desk to start the meeting. She carefully lowered herself into her chair, and the others followed suit. "I guess you all know what we're doing here?"

"Oh, yeah." Georgia grinned. "Busting down doors for women and girls everywhere."

"In as lady-like a manner as possible." Marlee agreed. "We need to seem as if we're complying with everything society expects of us, so that when we ask for this one courtesy, equal opportunity, it doesn't come across as such an outrageous request."

The others nodded in agreement, and America smiled. "I'm glad we're all on the same page." She handed a stack of notepads and pens down to Silvia, on her right, and Silvia began passing them around. "We have until December 11th to convince the undecided citizens of Illéa that this amendment is what they want. That's the date of the biannual legislative session, that's when Maxon will either sign the amendment into law, or abandon it. The stakes are unbelievably high. If we don't pass it now, it will be another generation before we even get the chance. Maxon's and my joint approval numbers are the highest they'll ever be in our lifetimes, while I'm pregnant with our first child. It's now or never, for our children." America explained, and they all nodded seriously. "So what I really need are ideas for winning the people over. We were the most universally popular crop of Elite in the history of the Selection. There was something for everyone, with us. Lower castes, upper castes, traditionally-minded, progressively-minded; if anyone can do this, it's us."

"Well put, your Majesty." Silvia nodded her approval.

"Um, America? I mean, Queen America?" Natalie said, nervously.

"America." America corrected. "I'm not 'Queen America' to anyone in this room, except maybe Mary and Silvia because they've devoted their lives to upholding propriety, apparently."

Mary blushed at being called out, but she did not object. Silvia even smiled a little.

"Well, America, then." Natalie continued. "Before we begin, um… I promised my best friend I'd talk to you about something."

"What is it?"

"It kind of has to do with the amendment, in a way. It's just, my friend's sister is in jail right now."

"Why?" America asked, surprised. Natalie wasn't the type to cavort with criminal families.

"She's pregnant. And she's… well, unmarried." Natalie blushed.

America took a deep, steadying breath. "Maxon changed the unofficial policy on that months ago, when we found out I was pregnant. There was a notice that went out to all of the provinces, a moratorium on those kinds of arrests. Once the amendment passes, those arrests won't even be legal anymore. Not unless they start throwing the fathers in prison, too."

"Well…" Natalie looked uncomfortable, and America remembered that she'd never been a particularly assertive person. "Because it's not _official_ yet, I think some of the provinces are ignoring the policy change."

"I had no idea." America frowned. She sat there for a moment, making up her mind about what to do. "We should take care of this before anything else. Excuse me for just a moment." America stood with some difficulty, lifting her belly first, making sure to motion that the others were not required to stand when she did. She moved around her desk and pushed open the doors to Maxon's office without knocking.

Maxon was on the other side, with Stavros and Aspen, apparently getting an informal security update.

"America?" Maxon asked, looking up from his desk, surprised. Stavros and Aspen both turned in their chairs to face her, and all of the women in America's office peered interestedly into Maxon's office. "Hello, Ladies." Maxon waved a little. He seemed as if he was only now understanding the intense awkwardness of having so many of his exes gathered together in one room with his wife.

The women behind America waved back, uncomfortably.

"Maxon, did you know that some of the authorities in the provinces haven't been abiding by your policy change regarding unwed pregnancies? They've been throwing pregnant women in jail, regardless?" America demanded.

Maxon's eyebrows rose. "I did not know that."

"Natalie has a friend whose sister is currently imprisoned for being pregnant."

"That's terrible." Maxon frowned. "We'll make sure to do something about that." he was distracted, his eyes drifting back to the reports on his desk.

America blinked at him, as Stavros, Aspen, and the women all stared back and forth between them. "Maxon?"

"Hm?" he asked, worrying over a chart on his desk.

"Maxon, look at me." America instructed.

"Yes, Love?" he looked up at her.

She placed one hand on her lower-back for support and the other on her protruding stomach. "There is a woman in Bankston right now who is in jail because she's pregnant." she rubbed her stomach for effect. "Fix that now, please."

"Right." Maxon blinked. Then he sighed, "Of course. Stavros?"

"Your Majesty?"

"Royal proclamation. Women cannot be imprisoned for being pregnant, regardless of marital status."

"Yes, sir." Stavros scribbled down the notice.

"And have an official call the prison where Lady Francesca's acquaintance is being held, see to it that she is immediately released and has access to medial care at one of America's clinics."

"Yes, sir."

"Do that now, you may use my phone." Maxon said, leaning back in his chair, and Stavros stood and dialed out using the phone on Maxon's desk. "How's that, Love?" he asked.

"Much better, thank you."

"Anything else?" he asked, smirking.

"No, that's all for now. I'll let you know if I think if anything else." America chuckled, and then returned to her office, closing the door between them. Most of the women were smirking behind their notepads, Kriss was actually giggling. "That should take care of it, Natalie, but please let me know if there's a problem."

"I will, thank you." Natalie smiled.

"We'll check on her later, and if she's not out of prison by dinnertime, I'll personally make a call to the jailor."

"I appreciate that so much, America." Natalie said.

"Alright, now, back to the amendment." America smiled, turning to the food cart, pouring out a cup of tea and picking up her omelet. Sometimes, when the baby was hungry, there was simply no reasoning with it. It needed its pickle and carrot omelet and it needed it now.

Following her lead, the others took it in turn to pour themselves a cup of coffee or tea and to pick out a snack, before returning to their circle.

"You know," Georgia mused as she picked through her piece of coffee cake, "I wish passing the amendment was as easy as getting Maxon to make that proclamation just now." she sounded almost forlorn about it.

America sighed as she unsteadily eased herself down into her chair, "I guess, technically, it _could_ be that easy. We could just do it without waiting for the formal session, or the approval ratings we're looking for. But, of course, that would be unnecessarily dangerous. We want to do this by the book, and we want the people's support when we do it. We don't want anyone to be able to hint that it's not a binding amendment because it wasn't done in the formal legislative session, and we _really_ don't want people so opposed to it that they try to depose Maxon and overturn every law he's passed." They sat there for a moment, considering all the damage that could be done if this amendment wasn't handled properly.

"Well, like Marlee said, let's play by the rules, then." Kriss said, sweeping her legs elegantly to the side.

"Exactly." America agreed. "So, Gavril has been in contact with all of you about additional media appearances, hasn't he?"

They all nodded. "We've been asked to give tacit approval." Elise confirmed for everyone else. "I think we've all been given a handful of public appearances in the next few months, where we'll be briefly interviewed and show our support that way."

"But we can do better than just that." Kriss grinned. "George and I had an idea."

"Let's hear it." America said, smiling at Kriss' enthusiasm.

"We'd host a fundraiser, inviting all of you, and use the money raised at the event to fund a leadership academy for girls."

"What does that mean?" Marlee asked. "What's a _leadership academy_?"

"It's like a club, the function of which would be to prepare girls for active roles in fields of study and work that they've previously been excluded from."

America nodded, slowly understanding. "I met a girl at an event who wants to be a magistrate when she grows up. It would help train her for that line of work?"

"Exactly. It would help her catch up to her male peers, and maybe even prepare her more thoroughly than they are. It would level the playing field, at least."

"I love that idea, Kriss." America smiled. "That's brilliant."

"It's also the perfect place to vocally support this amendment, and we could have all kinds of celebrities and trendsetters in attendance." Kriss grinned.

"That's what Gavril wants!" America nodded. "He wants to turn this into the fashionable opinion."

"Well, this should help." Kriss sighed. "I only wish we had Celeste and her contacts at our disposal. She'd be _perfect _for this project."

Embarrassingly enough, America felt her eyes well up at this. It wasn't as if she hadn't had the exact same thought earlier in the day, she reasoned, as she gulped down the knot in her throat. These baby hormones were really getting out of hand.

Marlee hummed and then said, "Maybe there's still a way Celeste can help us."

"What do you mean?" Kriss asked.

"Her parents. If we reach out to them and ask them for Celeste's old black book, where she kept all of her celebrity contacts written down... I'm sure a call from the office of the Queen and an invitation to an event where the Queen would be in attendance, would be a good incentive for any celebrity to join in, even if Celeste's memory wasn't enough motivation."

"That would be amazing." Kriss agreed. "America, could you make it to the fundraiser?"

"As long as security can clear it, I would love to." America agreed, enthusiastically. "I might not be able to party long into the night, but I can definitely be there for a while." America said, giving her stomach a little caress as she considered it.

Kriss grinned affectionately, "Has the baby been tiring you out?"

"More than I ever expected." America nodded. "But Silvia's been borderline tyrannical in making sure that I take regular naps and breaks when I need them."

Silvia's cheeks flushed at being called out, "It's my job, ma'am, and it's also my honor."

"Is it true, what you said on the _Report_?" Natalie asked, chiming in with the air of someone who'd just been daydreaming, and only returned to reality when the topic interested her. "Does the baby move a lot?"

America nodded with a grin, "Mostly when I'm sleeping, though recently the baby has been more active throughout the day, too. Right now he or she is fast asleep, and that suits me just fine. I don't need the thumping distractions. Not on top of the pregnancy brain."

Marlee giggled, "It hit you hard this week, didn't it?"

"With a vengeance." America nodded, "How could you tell?"

"Yesterday when we were running through the last minute details for this meeting, you trailed off right in the middle of a sentence about arrival times. Like, for a brief moment, every word you'd ever learned fled you."

America sighed, "For a moment, I think they did."

"Oh, America," Natalie breathed, dreamily, "I can't _wait _to meet the baby."

"If it has, indeed, been born before Christmas, I'll make sure you're all invited to the Palace ball. I won't actually be attending so soon after giving birth, but you can all sneak up to the third floor and we can have a nice, quiet little gathering and pass the baby around."

"Oh, yes!" Natalie nodded. "That sounds amazing."

"The baby's due a week and a half before the Palace ball." Elise reminded her, reassuringly. "You might be ready for a public event by then. Ready to have a night off from mothering and dance the night away in a gorgeous gown."

"Dr. Ashlar has repeatedly reminded me that first time mothers almost _always_ carry over the due date." America sighed. "Which means we might even be looking at a Christmas eve baby."

"Oh, how wonderful!" Natalie sounded as though she couldn't imagine anything better.

"What a gift to the nation." Elise nodded her agreement.

"So long as it's born after December 11th, I don't care." America smiled, steering the topic back to the amendment. "What else can we do to win the people over? I know you all have brilliant ideas."

Elise was the first to reply, "I've got a few interviews lined up that are totally separate from what Gavril has put on my plate for the amendment. They're to do with foreign relations, and my capacity as Maxon's adviser."

"We're all so proud of you, Elise!" Kriss beamed.

"We really are." America agreed, offering Elise a warm smile through her bite of omelet.

"Thank you. I'm pretty proud, too." Elise smiled, sheepishly. "Anyway, I was thinking that my other interviews might be the perfect time for me to talk about the foreign support that this amendment has garnered."

"It's garnered foreign support?" Kriss asked, impressed.

"Oh, yeah." Elise nodded, emphatically.

America explained, "Nicoletta promised me public support a long time ago, after we modeled the amendment based on Italian law."

"And the English have been vehement in their support, they issued a public statement last week." Elise said. "If there's one foreign monarchy our citizens worship any more than their own, it's the English. They're in love with that baby prince, and King Eoan has been Maxon's friend for years. He's like our honorary King."

"You know, Maxon should ask Daphne for her support." America mused.

"Absolutely!" Kriss agreed. "She's inheriting her own title in a couple of years, she should definitely support women inheriting titles here in Illéa."

America made a note to ask Maxon to talk to the Princess of France about it later.

"And," Elise said, "I happen to know that the Empress of New Asia is enthusiastic about setting this precedent. She thinks it could lead the way to similar laws in New Asia, which she would very much favor."

"Interesting." America said. "So she couldn't support our amendment directly—"

"But she could speak favorably of the concept, very publicly. And, of course, she has nothing but wonderful words to say about you, America."

America grinned, "That would be great. A show of support from all of these leaders could be really helpful. Can you facilitate that, Elise?"

"Absolutely." Elise grinned, making a note on her notebook.

Marlee sounded awed as she said, "So, basically, what we have here is a coalition of powerful women from all over the world supporting Queen America and this amendment. That sounds unstoppable."

Kriss nodded, thoughtfully. "We should ask Swendway to join. Queen Ragna would make a great ally in this quest."

"No." America tried not to visibly pale at the suggestion, and schooled her features and breathing so as not to give anything away. "Not Swendway."

"But, America, the Swendish would bring a lot of support with them from traditionalists." Kriss argued.

"They would, but that's not happening." America said, firmly. Almost direly. Just the word 'Swendway' sent a shock of memory through her brain, the night Maxon had been on the verge of tears at this latest betrayal by his family. Her stomach roiled in revulsion, and she pushed away the rest of her omelet, appetite suddenly vanished.

The women all looked confused at this, similar looks of concern on all of their faces, but none of them pressed her for an explanation.

Kriss nodded slowly, allowing the understanding to slowly creep through her that something was going on, something they didn't know about. A royal secret. "Okay, fine. We need a different way to bring traditionalists along."

They fell into silence, considering this for a minute. It was not a simple task. Traditionalists seemed to be hardliners, uneasily swayed, and the wealthy traditionalists tended to trend towards Loyalism, donating to rebels to try to overthrow Maxon and America.

Silvia seemed to light up with an idea, clearly having been thinking similar thoughts to America. "Most of these traditionally-minded citizens are _not _violent extremists, they're moderate in their political beliefs, but they were most happy under King Clarkson and want to maintain their way of life for their children."

"We're not trying to take that from them." America said, rhythmically swirling the tea in her cup.

"No, ma'am, of course not. But one way to garner support from undecided citizens who might lean towards a traditional mindset, would be to _paint_ traditionalists as extremists. As wrong-headed and full of vitriol."

"How?" America asked. "We can't just cast around accusations like that."

Silvia agreed, "That's true, your Majesty. But…" she trailed off, thoughtfully, making up her mind. "We could pick someone who truly _is_ extreme and hateful, and interview that person, making it seem as if he speaks for all of those opposed to the amendment. He'll be so abhorrent, no one who is undecided will want to seem as if they agree with that hateful person, and naturally they'll fall into a mindset of support for the monarchy."

America blinked, surprised. "Would that work?"

"I think so…" Silvia said, uncertainly.

"What if people decide that they agree with this hateful person who opposes the amendment?"

"Some might. But the average undecided citizen could be swayed by exposure to that portrayal of traditionalism. And it could galvanize those who already agree with the amendment."

America nodded, thinking it through. "It sounds brilliant, but it also sounds risky… I don't want to approve that strategy without thoroughly examining it with Gavril, first. He'll know if that's the correct way to use the media."

"Of course, your Majesty." Silvia nodded.

Georgia sighed, taking a long drink from her coffee. "We should break it down by caste, too, not just by 'traditional' and 'progressive'. The upper castes will be drawn by the celebrity endorsements, even if they're traditionally-minded. But lower caste citizens won't be drawn in by the flash. They'll need a practical reason to support it."

"We have that." Mary said, surprised. Then she blinked, as if she couldn't believe she'd spoken aloud.

"Go on, Mary." America smiled, encouragingly.

"We have a practical reason to support this. If women can hold higher-paying occupations, that means more money for our families. Fewer hungry nights, a better future for our children. That's all the reason we need to support this amendment."

"We just need to highlight that for them." America nodded. "Perfect. Thanks, Mary."

"Maybe you could sit down with Elise's husband?" Kriss suggested. "His newspaper is _amazing_, and it has developed quite the readership."

Elise smiled, pride evident in her expression. "I'm sure that could be arranged."

"I've been meaning to invite him over, anyway." America said, seriously. "The series he did on the Southern provinces was _incredible_. I'd love to talk to him about what he learned while he was in the south."

"I'm sure he'd like that."

"Would you have him contact Silvia to set up a meeting?" America asked.

"Of course." Elise said. "I can't tell him what to write, but I know that he supports this amendment personally, so I'm sure it will be a favorable column. Fair, of course, but favorable."

"That's the best we can ask for." America sighed, rubbing her temples, attempting to facilitate blood flow.

"The _Report_ would be another good place to discuss that angle." Kriss mentioned. "Everyone will see it, if it's on the _Report_."

"That interview is already scheduled." Silvia assured them.

"Good." Kriss nodded her approval.

Natalie seemed to come back from wherever she'd zoned out to, yet again, "You haven't done a nursery special yet, with pictures of you and Maxon arranging furniture and hanging paintings and things like that. People would love that, it would make them feel even more connected to the baby."

"We need to schedule that with Gavril." America agreed. "Thanks for the reminder."

"He'll want to wait a little and give you more time to grow before we tape it." Silvia warned.

"That's fine. Maxon and I haven't even begun acquiring baby things, we couldn't shoot the segment anytime soon, even if we wanted to."

"We should throw you a baby shower!" Marlee exclaimed.

"Yes!" Natalie nodded, emphatically.

Kriss grinned, "We absolutely should. And we should invite a few choice cameras inside."

America sighed, "You know I don't _need_ a baby shower, don't you?"

"Of course, silly." Marlee winked.

"This is about spectacle and performance, America." Kriss reminded her. "Giving the people a good show."

"Alright, then." America reluctantly agreed. "Spectacle it is. Marlee, can I leave the planning to you?"

"Of course." she grinned. "I can't wait!"

There was a firm knock at the door, and then Gavril appeared with a photographer in tow. "Your Majesty," he bowed deeply, "It's time for photographs."

"Of course." America said, setting aside her teacup. "How would you like us?"

"As you are, for the first few," Gavril instructed, "And then we'll take a few of you posed around the sofas in a group."

"Wonderful." America nodded.

"Carry on, Ladies, just pretend we aren't here. Pretend that all is normal."

Georgia grinned, "Yeah. Pretend that all is normal, and we're not having a conversation that could change _everything _for women in Illéa."

The others snickered at this, but America glanced down at her stomach, anxiously. She wondered how much of a hypocrite it made her that those changes for women in Illéa weren't really her goal. They were a wonderful byproduct, but a byproduct all the same. The only woman America was really, truly worried about was the one that the baby in her stomach might grow up to be. If the amendment failed, the women in Illéa would just have to go about getting their freedoms in smaller bits and pieces over time. But for her potential daughter, there was no more time. This was the only time. Failure to secure the amendment would have devastating consequences on America's family, and she simply could not let that happen. She pasted a smile securely on her face, ignored the ominous click of the prying camera, and continued playing this dangerous, high-stakes game with her husband's reign and her daughters' futures all on the line.


	44. Chapter 44

America sat before her vanity, perched precariously on the little padded bench in front of her mirror, soft cotton shirt rolled up to reveal her round stomach, gently rubbing lotion in a soothing pattern into the sides of her bump. She hummed as she worked, and this combined with the massage was lulling her very active baby into a gentle stillness. At least, until Maxon came along.

"You were brilliant today, my dear!" Maxon exclaimed on entering her bedroom and finding her, not only there, but already getting ready for bed.

The baby squirmed excitedly inside her and she sighed, distraught. "I won't even dignify that with a response, Maxon."

"I apologize." Maxon grinned, crotssing quickly over so that he could examine the work she was doing on her stomach. "I forgot myself in my joy. I meant to say 'my love', which you very much are."

America scowled, giving up on her task. The lotion was supposed to help soothe the itching on her skin, in addition to calming the baby, but none of it was going the way she'd planned. She scratched the irritated sides of her belly, frustrated with herself and everything and everyone and Maxon, and she huffed in annoyance. "I think the baby knows your voice." she griped.

Maxon beamed at this. "Really? Can you hear me in there, baby? I suppose you can, there are only a few inches separating us. How are you doing today, little love?" he cooed.

"Very. Active." America winced as the baby lashed out and punched towards Maxon's voice, nailing her ribs along the way.

"Sort of like its mother?" Maxon suggested, pointedly. "You were on your feet all day, today, Love."

This had been the day of the clothing drive. America and May spent all day at a facility in Angeles sorting donations, signing autographs, posing for pictures, and handing out free trinkets donated by various celebrities to be given out to clothing drive participants. The good news was that they'd collected enough coats and jackets to clothe a small army at America's facility alone, which was very important with winter upon them. Other facilities throughout Angeles and the rest of Illéa were calling in with similar numbers. America was also overjoyed by the amount of maternity wear that was being donated. This would help a lot of struggling mothers in the months to come, she knew it.

"I stayed off my feet as much as I could." America insisted, though her ankles and arches were screaming otherwise.

"Hmm. How are you feeling?" Maxon checked, but he looked as if he could pretty well guess the answer.

America sniffed and a few tears leaked out of her eyes, which she wiped away angrily. "Short-tempered and mean." Then she sobbed once, before choking back any other cries. "I ache everywhere. I don't know where to demand that you massage me first: My ankles, my back, my neck, my calves—"

"Well, you're done wearing heels after today, that's for sure." Maxon frowned.

"No, I'm not!" America protested.

"What, so you're just allowed to do whatever damage to your body that you want to do during the day and then demand I massage away the results every night?" he glared.

"…Yes." America said, though even to her own ears it sounded wrong.

Maxon shook his head, frustrated and frowning, and said, "A hot bath will help. With some of that peppermint oil that you like so much." he tore off his tie and stalked into the bathroom. A moment later, America could hear the falling water as it began filling up their enormous tub.

"Not too hot, Maxon!" she called.

"I'm not going to scald the mother of my child!" he retorted before reappearing from the bathroom and disappearing into his own bedroom to change clothes.

America sighed heavily as her bladder was kicked. Now, on top of how lousy she was feeling, she'd gone and ruined Maxon's good mood.

By the time she'd emptied her poor, beaten bladder, added a few bubbles to the bath, and carefully lowered herself into the warm, soothing concoction, Maxon was back. He was still wearing his white undershirt, as well as a pair of navy blue pajama bottoms.

"Better?" he asked, when he found her already in the water.

She nodded emphatically and deeply inhaled the scent of the peppermint oil as it softened her skin. "Thank you, Maxon."

This chipped away at his residual annoyance from earlier. "You're welcome. You know I'll do anything for you."

"Yes, I do."

"Your event really was magnificent today. I'm so proud of you, do you know that?"

"I do." America smiled. "And I'm proud of May. She really impressed me throughout this whole process. She might have a future in planning events like this."

"I think she's got a long and thoroughly glamorous career lined up in being the Queen's sister." he joked. "But if that stops working out for her, it's good to know that she won't starve."

America chuckled. "Well, at least we can call on her to help us with stuff like this again in the future."

"That's the real lesson." Maxon agreed, perching on the edge of the tub and staring down at her. "You know, Ames… it would make me really happy if you'd take tomorrow off."

"Why should I?" America asked, surprised.

"Because you overdid it today. I'd like for you to get plenty of rest and keep your feet up for a while. Dr. Ashlar won't be happy about those swollen ankles, I can promise you."

America frowned and tilted her head to the side of her bump so that she could examine her slightly engorged ankles. "I suppose you're right." she leant her head back and allowed the warm water to engulf all of her hair and face before popping back up again. "I just… I hate to do that."

"To take a day off?"

"To take a day off when it isn't an emergency, just because I can."

"Why should that bother you?" Maxon asked, concerned.

"Because if I was still a Five, I wouldn't have that option. Most of the women in this country can't take a day off just because they're pregnant and they 'overdid it'. They can't afford to. Every time Mary helps me in and out of my clothes, or I relax in a luxurious bath like this, or I elect to take a meal in bed so that I can sleep longer, I can't help but think of all of the women in Illéa who are pregnant right now and don't have those options."

Maxon sighed. "I suppose I understand. It strikes you as intrinsically unfair?"

"It is intrinsically unfair. This is the life that came with falling in love with you, but if you hadn't been the Prince, a totally different life would have come with it. And that's the life we'd be living now. And it wouldn't include amazingly deep tubs filled with oils and luxury soaps, and it wouldn't include maids to help keep everything tidy or chefs to keep food on the table."

"There's nothing we can do about the fairness, Ames." Maxon frowned. "We're working day and night to improve the standards of living throughout Illéa. We're going to institute the amendment and then you and Kriss are going to get started on childcare so that mothers don't have to worry after their young children and can instead get back to their work sooner. Then you'll have schools, so children of all castes will be prepared for any number of well-paying, steady jobs that were previously closed off to them for all kinds of reasons. The castes will be gone not long after. Things are improving. In the meantime, since you have the ability to take a day off, you should take advantage of it. Don't you think they would if they could? Do you think they wouldn't want you to rest just because they can't?"

America shrugged. She didn't have answers. "I don't know how my mom did it. She was pregnant over and over, with a house full of young children, scraping to get food on the table, getting us all through fevers and nightmares, her work was never done, no matter how badly her back ached. I promise you, that woman didn't have time for a hot bath until Gerad turned five."

Maxon considered this as he turned off the faucet of warm water and then studied her bouncing bump. He lowered a hand to attempt to still his child, massaging the place they suspected the baby's belly to be. "Well, your mother must have been doing something right, you turned out wonderfully. Perhaps a compromise is in order. Work from your room tomorrow? Have breakfast in bed with your mother, your sisters, and Astra, and then Silvia can join you later in the morning? Take care of everything from up here, and I'll join you for lunch and dinner?"

America exhaled slowly as the baby slowed down to a gentle wiggle at Maxon's touch and the peppermint smell in the air worked its magic. "I can definitely live with that."

"Excellent." he smiled. "And as for the heels—"

"Maxon, you were right. I don't even like heels." America pouted.

Maxon laughed at this. "Then why, sweetheart? Why torture yourself?"

"Because it's what good queens do!"

"Not when they're heavily pregnant." Maxon objected.

"Careful with the 'heavily', Maxon, I won't even be seven months along until next week." America warned.

"All I'm saying is that, surely you're expected to adapt your wardrobe in your condition?" he grinned down at her.

"Did you see how the Queen of England looked when she was seven months pregnant? Flawless, majestic, and always in four inch heels!" America groaned and sank underwater again, before allowing herself to drift back up.

"Love, you could have done yourself real damage today, with all of the lifting and carrying—"

"May and Aspen were diligent in making sure I didn't tote anything too heavy." America insisted.

"Set my mind at ease." Maxon begged. "Compromise with me?"

America huffed. "Fine. Heels for public appearances or adviser meetings. Flats the rest of the time."

Maxon smiled. "I like that. But if it's a long, strenuous public appearance like today—"

"We'll… figure it out. Maybe heels for the beginning and end during the photo ops, and flats in the middle?" America suggested.

Maxon nodded. "Good enough." He slipped off of the tub and knelt down to be closer to her, allowing his bare arms to soak in the warm water as he massaged the baby bump. "Now then, what's this I hear about the baby knowing my voice?"

"I swear, you two already have a psychic connection." America said, much less annoyed by it now that she was soaking in this magical restorative water. "Try it. Go away for a minute, come back in, and say something."

Maxon grinned, excitedly. "Okay! Bye, baby, I'm definitely leaving. You won't hear me again for a long time! I'll miss you!" Maxon tiptoed out of the bathroom and America took the quiet time to herself to comb out a few knots in her hair with her fingers. The baby's movements slowed down, it was probably tired out from the long day of kicking, punching, and dancing it had had in America's stomach. There was nothing but the soothing sound of water, as America ran her fingers along the surface to collect bubbles and arrange them into various shapes, and then Maxon returned.

He tiptoed back up to the edge of the bath, knelt down next to her, and studied her calm stomach. He nodded, thoughtfully, and then said, loudly, "I'm back, baby, did you miss me?" and America's stomach jolted to life as the baby began to squirm with excitement. Maxon laughed joyously at the sight, the happiness reaching all the way to his eyes and making him look so much younger. "You know I'm Daddy?" he asked, like it was too good to be true, as he lowered his hands again to America's stomach and began massaging. The baby kicked and punched wherever his hands lingered for longer than a moment. "Ames, this is amazing."

"Yeah. It really is." America grinned, watching them.

"We're not hurting you, are we?"

"I'm fine." America promised. "This is fun to watch."

Maxon continued a little longer and then leant back on his heels with a contented sigh. "I love that baby so much!"

"I know. Me, too."

"I can't wait to see its little face. To see its hair and find out if it has your eyes, I can't wait to watch it wiggle and kick in my arms instead of through your skin."

"I can't wait for that part, either." America frowned. "On the other hand, Gerad's ecstatic because it's looking like we've got another soccer star on our hands." and to make the point, the baby kicked again.

Maxon chuckled affectionately. "I'll bet the baby sleeps really well tonight, after the day it's had."

"I hope so." America agreed.

After her bath, America tried again with the lotions and the itchy spots on her skin. They felt much better, having soaked in the oil for so long, but there was only so much she could do.

"I think I'm getting stretch marks." she lamented, as she climbed into her bed next to Maxon.

"Really?" he asked, interestedly.

"I can feel my skin struggling to keep up with the baby's growth spurts. It itches like crazy sometimes."

"Drinking plenty of water is supposed to help with that."

"If I drink much more water, I'll be holding all of my royal meetings in the bathroom, with the amount of peeing I'll be doing."

Maxon laughed and then pulled her in to him, wrapping an arm around to rest on her stomach. "I wouldn't mind you with a few stretch marks, personally."

"Really?" she asked, surprised.

"They'd make interesting new trails for me to kiss my way up and down." he licked his lips at the thought. "I could have a lot of fun with your stretch marks, my love."

"Wouldn't they bother you, though? I mean, I'd never be able to wear two-piece bathing suit again."

"Why not?" Maxon asked, horrified.

"Because of the scars!" America reminded him, and then she realized what she was saying. She was trying to tell him about scars.

"Ames." Maxon breathed into her hair, sounding anguished. "You will never be anything but beautiful, and not just to me. Everyone who sees you knows how gorgeous you are. A few scars would never change that. If you do end up with scars, I don't want you ever to hide them out of shame. I couldn't bear that. I show mine now, and mine came from a much uglier source. You should never hide the amazing evidence of your motherhood out of shame, I couldn't stand that."

America nodded slowly, taking in the sincere expression on his handsome face. "Alright. You have a deal."

"Good."

"But I want something in return."

"Hm?"

"Pickles, peanut butter, and a very long foot massage."

"Very long?"

"Very, very long." She nodded. "Pickles, peanut butter and at least a five hour foot massage."

"In that order?" Maxon smirked.

"Well, the baby is asking for the pickles and peanut butter. The epic, days-long foot massage is for me."

"Right." Maxon laughed at the growing length of her requested massage. "Shall I cover the pickles in peanut butter?"

"I'll take care of that." America smiled.

"So you're sending me to the kitchens for a jar of pickles and a jar of peanut butter?" Maxon clarified.

"Exactly."

"Pffft. Easy. Come on, baby, you should try giving me a challenge sometime." he taunted her stomach before bounding out of bed. "I'll be so bored down there, I might as well bring your mother a glass of milk while I'm at it, just to keep things interesting."

"We love you, Daddy." America grinned.

Maxon paused while slipping into his robe, a radiant expression taking over his face, closing his eyes and breathing in deeply, soaking in that title. "I love you, too. _Both_ of you. So much." he grinned, and then he disappeared out the bedroom door on his way to the kitchens.

* * *

"Rolph, thank you so much for coming." America greeted him, walking quickly to her office. She was running ten minutes behind her already abbreviated schedule, and it was leaving her in an anxious fluster. "I'm so sorry for making you wait, I know how valuable your time is."

"Oh, please, your Majesty," Rolph stood and bowed to her as she hurried around her desk. "It's an honor to be invited here, I am at your complete disposal, ma'am."

"I appreciate that." America smiled at him, still catching her breath from rushing over to her office from the hospital wing. These days if she so much as crossed a room, she had a hard time catching her breath. Dr. Ashlar told her this was all normal, just her heart coping with the extra workload of the baby, but that didn't mean it wasn't completely annoying to experience every time she wanted to go anywhere.

Silvia followed her quickly through the door, silently carrying an ottoman in her arms, and then placing it pointedly in front of America with a challenging glare. America exhaled slowly, praying for patience, and then turned to Rolph. "I hope you won't think of this as an instance of royal excess, Rolph, I've just been given doctor's orders to keep my feet elevated while I'm sitting."

Rolph frowned, concerned, as he sat back down. "Of course, your Majesty, do whatever you need to do to take care of your child and yourself. Are you well? I'd be happy to come back another day."

"I'm quite well, I assure you." America insisted as she lifted her feet on to the ottoman. "I have some lingering swelling in my ankles, leftover from last week's clothing drive. We're just trying to keep it from becoming a problem in the future." Silvia curtsied and hurried out of the office. Since America was cutting back on her schedule to spend more time resting up for the baby, Silvia had more minutia to deal with. She was happy to help, but always very busy.

"That was a momentous charity event, ma'am, the clothing drive. One of my correspondents covered it extensively and is following up on some of the good that the donated clothing is doing for lower caste families." Rolph complimented her enthusiastically, taking a drink of the water someone must have offered him when he arrived at her empty office.

"I can't wait to read that segment." America smiled. "But positive press isn't really why I asked Elise to set up this meeting."

"Isn't it?" Rolph asked, surprised. "I just assumed-"

"I'm always grateful when you choose to write positive stories about my family and our work, but I know better than to ask you outright to cover a story. That's what we have Gavril for." She smiled.

"I see. Well, now I'm truly flummoxed, ma'am."

"I read some of your series on the southern provinces, Rolph. I was very impressed."

"Oh, thank you, ma'am." Rolph said, surprised.

"I wanted to discuss what you learned while you were there, I want to understand more of what the south has been through. I'm hoping it will help shed some light on what the rebels are thinking as they attack my family."

Rolph blinked, taken aback. "Your majesty, we were devastated to hear about what happened to your brother. You have our deepest sympathies. You have _my_ deepest sympathies."

"I really do appreciate that, Rolph, but I'm not looking for your sympathies. I'm looking for answers. Our head of security does not believe that there is a method to the madness behind my brother's death. I don't agree. I'm not looking for a reason, I've accepted that reason has no place in murder. But I am looking for a pattern, something to help me understand the killer's motivations. I think it will help us figure out who he is, and even if it doesn't, I hope it will help me find peace of mind."

"In that case, ma'am, I am happy to help in any way that I can." He looked doubtful, like he, too, thought she was on a pointless mission. Maxon and Aspen had both considered this to be a waste of time, but at least they hadn't stopped her. She was at a point in her pregnancy where her instincts were just too strong to ignore, even if they were wrong.

"Good." America considered the papers on her desk as she thought about what she wanted to know first. "The article I read was about a man whose house was burned down by a group of alleged soldiers looking for rebel papers."

"That's right. Jefferson Potter." Rolph nodded.

"Maxon wasn't sure if such a practice was common at the time. There is a lot we're still learning about King Clarkson's reign."

"From what I heard during my time in Honduragua, Mr. Potter was not alone."

"I don't suppose there's any way to determine if the soldiers were, in fact, members of the Royal army?"

"I tried, ma'am. I'm afraid the truth has been lost to history."

America frowned, not surprised by this news, but not pleased by it, either. "Unwarranted destruction of property wasn't really the worst thing that happened to the citizens in the south, was it?" she asked dreading his response, but it wasn't what she expected.

"At _what_ point would it be warranted for armed soldiers to march into a citizen's private home and destroy their personal property?" Rolph asked pointedly, but also interestedly. He clearly enjoyed this type of philosophical debate.

"I suppose only when treason or illegal activities are involved."

"But without due process, without a fair system of trial, evidence, and just punishment or reprieve, then even in those instances, is it truly warranted? That's where King Clarkson fell so far from the mark... um, oh, er... Your Majesty." he remembered himself.

America laughed as Rolph nervously gulped. Five years ago, he'd probably have been sent to jail for a little while for what he'd just said about the former King. "Oh, Rolph, I'm no fan of Clarkson, either. Please be honest with me, don't guard what you say. Maybe pretend I'm not the Queen right now?" she suggested.

Rolph laughed nervously, "I don't think that's possible, ma'am."

"I understand." America leant back in her chair and began absentmindedly running soothing patterns over her baby bump with her fingers, a habit she now fell into any time the baby was squirming and she was sitting down. "You make a good point about fair examination. Citizens should be able to prove their guilt or innocence. We have magistrates to uphold the law, but they almost never pardon anyone or determine that someone was falsely accused. Their jobs are almost entirely assigning punishments to fit crimes, real or imagined."

"Could there be reform on the horizon, then, your Majesty?" Rolph asked, surprised and impressed.

America hung her head and groaned at the thought of _more_ reform. "You know, I'm not really capable of strategizing past the amendment, giving birth, and then trying to institute a universal standard of free education as a public commodity in Illéa whilst simultaneously somehow figuring out what to do with a baby, how to take care of it and keep it alive... judicial reform might be a Maxon problem, at least for the next few years."

Rolph smiled at her, "I suppose you have to leave something for him to do all day."

America nodded, with a laugh, "Yes, he does tend to pout when he gets bored." She opened up the bottom left drawer of her desk and removed a small bag of pretzels to snack on. The baby's squirming was triggering some light nausea, but salty snacks usually quelled her stomach nicely. "You should write a petition, Rolph. About the judicial reform. Tell Maxon what you just told me."

"He'd read that?" Rolph asked, surprised.

"Of course he would. Something as eloquently stated as you could write it would probably get taken right to Stavros. Of course, that doesn't mean that any significant changes could be made instantly. Revolution is a slow drip and drop of reforms, I'm learning, but each one is a battle worth fighting and a victory worth celebrating."

Rolph practically beamed back at her. "Your Majesty, I could not agree more."

"Do you think that those types of reforms would do anything to help relieve the suffering of the southern provinces?"

This question gave Rolph pause as he turned it over in his mind. "Of course, such reforms would relieve injustices in all provinces, especially in the south... but..."

America winced at his reluctant tone, "Too little, too late?"

"I think it's of paramount importance that the needs of the south are met, and that steps are taken to try to aid in their recovery... but it should also be acknowledged that there is no 'fixing' what happened in the past. Their loved ones are dead, their livelihoods tenuous and dependent on uncontrollable factors like amount of rain and quality of sun to keep their farms healthy. They're proud and sturdy people, they're proud to be Illéan citizens. They're still proud of Queen Amberly, and they're very proud of King Maxon, many southerners consider him to be one of their own because of his mother."

"I believe that's how Maxon sees himself." America agreed.

Rolph shifted in his chair, crossing his right ankle to rest on his left knee. "I know your instinct is to try to make everything better, your Majesty, to make the pain go away."

America nodded. "Yes."

Rolph studied her face carefully. "That's not possible, though. And it can be insensitive to try. They don't want their past erased, they don't want someone to wave a magic wand and make it 'all better'. Think... Think of when your brother died, ma'am. The words people said to you to try to _make_ you feel better, as if they had the power to take your feelings about your brother away from you. The presumptuousness of it all."

"You're saying to let them grieve?" America asked, after taking a moment to swallow down the lump that had formed in her throat as she thought about Kota.

"Yes. Don't take their grief away from them, it's all they have left of those they've lost. It's their badge of courage for what they've endured."

"Perhaps a monument, then? A memorial, a place of remembrance?"

"That would be most welcome, I believe." Rolph smiled reassuringly at her. "Although, it should be built by southerners. It shouldn't be something bestowed upon them by the benevolent north."

"I agree. Next fiscal year, we can free up the funds and ask the southern provinces to each select a representative, those representatives can form the committee that makes all of the decisions about the monument."

Rolph gaped at her for a solid fifteen seconds before clarifying, "Representatives... selected by a vote of the people?"

America smiled, "Yes."

"But that's… unheard of, your Majesty! Illéa has never had a popular vote for any reason, not a binding one. Not even our _entertainment_ polls have any meaningful outcome."

"Rolph… You _do_ know that that's where Maxon and I are headed with the dissolution of the castes, don't you? We'd like to have the people assemble a governing body of their own, people to speak up for citizens that Maxon and I can't always hear."

"... Seriously?" he was stunned.

"Yes." America giggled. "Of course, we need education in place, first, so that people can read about candidates and understand the ideas that they'd be voting for."

Rolph looked like he had half a mind to kiss her. "Wow, Queen America, I knew you were going to change things when King Maxon started favoring you in his Selection, but I had no idea... I never could have hoped..."

"It's nice to know we'll have your support." America smiled. "You're a good friend to have, Rolph Lemex."

"I don't suppose I could write anything about this popularly elected form of government in my next issue, could I?"

"I don't think I'm allowed to stop you." America shrugged. "But I might beg you not to. Not until the nation has recovered from this amendment that we're working on."

"I understand. Of course." he agreed. "Sometimes I get overexcited, I apologize."

America grinned, "Please don't. I like that about you. I think you're very good for Elise, a very nice counterbalance for her personality."

Rolph's cheeks flushed, "Thank you, your Majesty." he cleared his throat, gathering his wits, endearingly flustered, and then said, "I would be… happy to advise on the monument project, when the time comes, Queen America."

"That would be wonderful, thank you." America said. "I'll have Silvia put it on her calendar to contact you at the beginning of June, that's usually when we finalize things for the upcoming fiscal year. We'll likely talk about budget first."

"Very good." Rolph agreed.

America wrote a quick note for Silvia, which she'd hand over once her meeting with Rolph was over, and then she took a deep, steadying breath. "Rolph, there was one more thing I wanted to discuss with you today."

"Of course, your Majesty."

There were butterflies in her stomach now that had nothing to do with the baby.

"I was wondering…" she paused, she'd rehearsed this question a hundred times in her head. Somehow, saying the words aloud was much harder than thinking them. "I was wondering if, in your time in the south, you ever heard of someone who calls himself 'the King of Spades'."

Her eyes swept from left to right over her office, as though just saying his fake name might have somehow caused him to magically appear. When they finally resettled on Rolph, his face had gone from adorably flummoxed to grave and serious.

"Yes, your Majesty. I nearly did a column on him. He's some sort of rebel leader, by most accounts real, although the mythos surrounding him is likely greatly exaggerated. How did you come to hear of him up here in Angeles?" he asked, his tone anxious and concerned.

"We believe he killed my brother. Or, if not him, then someone pretending to be him." America said.

Rolph's face was the image of pity and surprise, neither of which interested America. She did not have the capacity to process any more surprise or pity about Kota's death. She just wanted information. "Your Majesty—"

"I know. You're sorry. Everyone's sorry." America nodded, "Let's push past the pity and get to the point, okay?" She made sure to keep her tone kind, very aware that such a request coming from the Queen could easily be construed as a short-tempered order.

Rolph blinked, "I'm—" He caught himself about to say 'sorry' again, and shook his head. "Of course. What would you like to know?"

"Everything you know." America said. "Tell me _everything_."

Rolph nodded, leant back in his chair and took a deep, cleansing breath. "Do you have a pack of playing cards, ma'am?"

America clumsily lifted herself out of her chair, relying heavily on her arms for support as she stood, and then crossed around Rolph to the door of her office. She swung it open and peaked over to see who was guarding them. Avery.

"Your Majesty?" Avery asked, at the sight of her.

"A pack of playing cards, please, Avery."

"Yes, ma'am." he hurried down the hall to deliver her request to the nearest maid on-duty.

America returned to her chair and they waited, silently. It wasn't an awkward or terrible silence, but it was heavy with what they were about to discuss. America closed her eyes and leant her head against the plush back of her chair. It occurred to her how badly she needed a nap. If Silvia caught her yawning during their next meeting, America would be banished to bed and a whole host of work would remain either undone, or left for her assistants to somehow figure out what to do with.

it didn't take long for Avery to reappear with a firm knock, a deep bow, and a deck of well-worn playing cards. Rolph took the cards with an almost intimidated sounding 'Thank you', and Avery disappeared again. Rolph opened the deck and shuffled through until he found the two cards he was looking for.

"The King of Spades." Rolph said, pulling his chair closer to America's desk so that they could both see them. "And the King of Hearts." he laid them down for America to study. He waited, looking between America and the cards, trying to see if she understood everything already.

"I'm sorry, Rolph... Am I looking for something?"

Rolph nodded, undeterred, and continued, "Historically, the kings of each suit were supposed to represent different kinds of actual kings. The King of Spades was the biblical king, meant to be a representation of King David of Israel. Because he's the biblical king, the King of Spades is supposed to be righteous, the ultimate authority on all transgressions. He uses that sword and as he sees fit, trusting in his own divine right to wield it."

"That sounds like the man we're looking for." America agreed.

"The King of Hearts." Rolph pointed to the other card, "The true adversary of the King of Spades. These drawings we associate with the playing cards originated in France during the middle ages. The King of Hearts is the French King, the king of the people. Most speculate he was modeled after Charlemagne, the great uniter of the Franks."

"Alright. So we have a biblical king and a king of the people." America frowned, the beginnings of understanding creeping through her mind.

"The King of Spades wields that sword." Rolph pointed out. "The King of Hearts is slain by it." he pointed to the other card and America's jaw dropped. There did appear to be an arm and sword raised behind the King of Hearts in an unknown attack. "There is debate on this, of course." Rolph explained, "Some scholars believe the King of Hearts might be killing himself. The placement of the hand that rests on his lapel is ambiguous, and the cuff on the raised hand is different from that on the resting hand. But, ma'am, from what I gathered in the south, this 'King of Spades' person doesn't care much for the suicide theory. He likes the version where the King of Spades is exacting righteous justice on the King of Hearts."

"And that's why he took that name?"

"That's why. Although, until today, I was unable to figure out who his target was. You say he came after your family?" Rolph worried.

"Yes." America waved that away. "I don't understand, Rolph, who would know those kinds of details about a deck of cards? Enough to choose that name so carefully?"

"Short of a scholar like me?" Rolph asked. "Perhaps an artist with an eye for details."

"No, he's upper caste." America shook her head. "He must be some kind of scholar."

Rolph simply shrugged, "He was said to have spent some time in the south, breaking people out of prison and stealing from the upper castes to help feed the lower castes. This was when King Clarkson was still in power."

"A vigilante, then?" America asked.

"That's the rumor. Eventually he's said to have joined the rebels in Angeles. People tend to believe that he was the man who put the bullet in King Clarkson."

"Do you think that's true?" Just talking about that attack set America's heart racing.

"I have no idea. I don't think there's any way to prove it, either."

"No, I guess not." America agreed.

"Some people think he's the man who made the hostage videos, ma'am." Rolph mentioned, almost sheepishly. Like he was bringing up something embarrassing to the monarchy, and not a national tragedy.

"We think that, too." America said.

"That's all I was able to gather on him. I abandoned the column because there wasn't enough hard evidence, not enough verifiable truth, to merit reporting."

"I guess I just don't understand what he wants. He's made Maxon his King of Hearts, he wants to destroy him, to kill him... but for what purpose? Does he want to take over the throne? That's not what would happen if Maxon was killed..."

Rolph didn't know what to say. "Maybe the end is killing King Maxon, ma'am. Maybe he doesn't care what happens after that."

"But then, why?"

Rolph simply shrugged, "His story could be like any number of the countless southern citizens who have suffered under the previous policies of the monarchy. If he sees himself as wielding righteous justice, it makes sense that he would be making up for something he saw or experienced."

America nodded, but did not say what she was thinking. That K was targeting her to hurt Maxon as much as possible before killing him. Even Kota's death was a byproduct of K trying to get to her. K wanted to kill Maxon's wife, to kill his unborn child, before assassinating the King of Hearts. Maybe he had lost his own wife and children at the hands of the monarchy? It was a stretch, but it was all she had to go on. It was better than nothing, although it led her to a thousand more questions. She supposed, then, that it was time to pay a visit to Maxon's room with a thousand answers.


	45. Chapter 45

America spent every moment she had to spare over the next week and a half looking for answers in Maxon's red tape library. Preparations for the Halloween ball were dominating her days, especially now that her schedule was shortened, not to mention that she spent an inordinate amount of time sleeping, even for a pregnant woman. Dr. Ashlar said that she was borderline anemic again, and he added more iron pills to her daily vitamin regimen, but they were taking a while to kick in. So she knew she wasn't spending as much time researching K's possible back story as she would have liked, but even so, she was turning up discouragingly few answers.

Because of the way that history was recorded before Maxon ascended the throne, accounts of the negative and sometimes fatal repercussions of the monarchy's policies were nonexistent. Since Maxon reformed that nasty habit of rewriting history, many gifted scholars just like Rolph Lemex had journeyed to the south to salvage what history they could. Unfortunately, the scholars were collecting primarily oral histories, the least objective and factual kind, and many of the accounts blended together, re-tellings of the same story but with different names or dates.

When they discussed it, Maxon had agreed that the myth surrounding the 'King of Spades' was disturbing, but he and Aspen both still agreed that it wouldn't really make any difference in catching K. They had new intelligence that suggested that K's spies in the Palace were abandoning him, the positive media being generated by the baby and the efforts Maxon and America were making to improve their approval ratings were actually helping to convert angry rebels. This was what Maxon and Aspen wanted to focus on, so America was very much on her own when it came to researching K's past.

Finally, America had to put her research on the backburner in order to focus on the Halloween ball. Silvia and Marlee proved invaluable, taking care of most of the actual ground work, but America still had to sign the invitations and make final approvals on everything from theme to hors d'oeuvres, not to mention figuring out how to dress her enormous belly, which was now dominating her tiny frame, in some kind of costume fit for a queen.

The week before the Halloween ball, Maxon and America did not see much of each other while they were both conscious. America was long asleep by the time Maxon made it in from meetings, and he was long gone by the time she got up for her abbreviated day. They didn't eat breakfast or dinner at the same time because of their different schedules, and sometimes it was even difficult for them to coordinate their brief lunch breaks. This was especially frustrating on the weekend, when they usually tried to keep their schedules lighter and make time for each other.

America finally put her foot down, reminding Maxon that he made a promise to be physically with her for this pregnancy before she ever agreed to it, and Maxon cleared his schedule that Monday night. They had dinner together on the balcony, and then curled up under a blanket to gaze at the stars above. It was a beautiful, crisp fall night, made a thousand times better because they were together.

"Let's name our baby." Maxon suggested, as he stroked America's arm soothingly.

"Sure, okay." America grinned, knowing they'd do no such thing tonight. Instead, they'd come up with five possible names and make no real decisions. She was beginning to think that maybe they wouldn't make the final decision until they were holding their little baby in their arms, gazing into its little sleepy eyes, watching it yawn and squirm and peer curiously up at them until it couldn't hold its heavy eyelids up a moment longer. And she was perfectly alright with that.

"I was thinking maybe Camilla for a girl." Maxon said. "'Princess Camilla. Queen Camilla'. Those both sound nice."

"They certainly do." America agreed.

"Camilla Carolina Schreave?" Maxon suggested.

"That's beautiful. Our little Cammie." America smiled.

"Does the baby feel like a 'Cammie'?" Maxon asked, seriously. This was an important factor in the final decision for him.

"The baby feels like a wiggle-worm, all the time." America giggled, rearranging herself on the chair they were sharing so that there was a little less pressure on her lower back.

"How about Lyra? Queen Lyra Schreave of Illéa." Maxon said. "I like that one."

"Very nice." America agreed.

They fell into a sort of comfortable, brainstorming silence. Maxon's hand drifted down from her arm to her belly, and her head drifted down to rest against his shoulder. She was just about to suggest that they head inside and get ready for bed, whence they could continue their brainstorming, when Kenna appeared on the balcony behind them, timidly knocking to announce her presence before appearing.

"Hey, Ames. Maxon."

"Kenna?" America asked.

Maxon studied Kenna's worried face for a moment, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing major." Kenna promised. "Astra has a little stomach bug, and she's begging for you, Maxon."

"Really?" Maxon asked, surprised.

"Yeah. I think she's more uncomfortable than anything. She's never been an especially puke-y baby, I couldn't tell you the last time she really threw up, but she's already vomited twice tonight and it's really upsetting her."

"Poor thing." Maxon frowned.

"Would you be willing to come and visit with her for a little while?" Kenna asked. "I wouldn't ask, but she's just so pathetic there, hung over the toilet, crying your name in that weak little trembling voice-" This visual was more than Maxon could bear, though Kenna seemed to find it slightly amusing. America supposed that, once you've spent a few hours cleaning up the vomit of a distraught three-year-old, you either find the humor or you burst into tears of your own.

Maxon was quick to his feet, but somehow managed to restrain himself from an all-out sprint, so that he lightly jogged to Kenna and James' room. Kenna helped America to her feet and they both hurried off after Maxon.

The scene in the room down the hall was distressing, even to America who had grown up with younger siblings and witnessed them at their sickest. Astra was wrapped up in a little robe, a specially made miniature of what the adults in the Palace all had, tailored for her little body by Paige and Esther during their spare time. Astra's little nightdress lay covered in kid vomit, crumbled up and abandoned in the corner of the bathroom. Her red hair was braided to keep it out of her face, and her eyes were bright red from crying. She had tears on her cheeks and lay curled in James' lap on the floor in front of the toilet until Maxon appeared in the doorway.

"Mackin!" Astra leapt up and ran over to Maxon, who scooped her into his arms and clutched her tightly to his chest.

"Careful, Bug." James complained, but mostly he looked too tired to set Astra straight about running around while she was sick.

"Your mommy told me you're sick." Maxon said.

"Yeah." Astra whimpered.

"How's your tummy?"

"Real bad, Mackin." Astra frowned.

"Does it still hurt?"

"A little." she nodded.

Maxon pressed a kiss to her forehead and frowned, "You're a little warm, you might have a fever."

"I don't like it, Mackin." Astra rested her head on Maxon's shoulder, hands clutched into tight little fists around the slack of his shirt on his chest. "I'm scared."

"Oh, no, baby girl." Maxon cooed, rubbing her back and tucking his head on top of hers. "Don't be scared. You're safe. You're safer than safe. Your Mommy and Daddy are here. I'm here, and so is Aunt Ames. The best doctor in the whole world lives right here at my house, and we'll go get him if we have to, but I don't think we need him."

Astra nodded, "I want Blinky." she moaned.

America went to pick up the haphazardly tossed bear which looked as though it had fallen from the bed, but Kenna stopped her, "No, I don't want you to touch anything, Ames. I don't want you and the baby to catch this."

"No!" Astra seemed to agree to the extent that she could understand, "I do _not_ want the baby to get my sick!"

"Okay." America said, reassuringly. "I'm going to sit right here on this couch and keep the baby from getting your sick. You haven't been on this couch, have you?"

"No, the couch is fine." Kenna agreed, fetching Blinky and handing it to Astra, who pried a hand away from Maxon's shirt just long enough to accept her stuffed friend, before tucking it between Maxon's chest and her own, then returning her hand its spot clutching his shirt.

Maxon kept Astra tight to his chest as he walked over to the door and peeked up and down the hallway. He called out to the guard on duty, Weaver, but America couldn't hear their hushed hallway conversation from her place on the couch. Kenna joined James, who had collapsed onto their bed looking exhausted.

"What time do you have work tomorrow?" Kenna asked James quietly, lacing her fingers through his.

"8:00." James winced.

"Go lay down in Astra's room. We've got this taken care of now."

"I'm not abandoning my little girl when she's sick." James insisted, stubbornly.

Kenna leant closer and shared hushed words with him, trying to convince him to take care of himself, but America couldn't tell what exactly they were saying. Maxon came back in from the hallway, pressing a kiss to Astra's hair.

"My tummy is gonna throw up again." Astra whined, and Maxon rushed her over to the bathroom, getting her to the toilet just in time. There wasn't much left in her poor little stomach, so mostly she just coughed and heaved and whimpered. Maxon was in more agony than she was, watching it all. He rubbed her back soothingly, while casting tortured looks over his shoulder at James, Kenna, and America. James and Kenna were clearly relieved to have someone who could take a turn on bathroom duty for them.

When Astra seemed like she was done, Maxon sat her down on the bathroom counter and wiped a cool washrag over her face. She said she liked that, that she was really hot and the cool water helped. Maxon also gave her a small glass of cold water to swish around, showing her how not to swallow it by spitting it in an impressive arch into the sink and making Astra giggle weakly.

The bedroom door swung open wide, and Weaver appeared with Markson. Weaver carried a beautiful wooden rocking chair, and Markson carried a small table fan and a bottle of water mixed with a small amount of seltzer. Maxon thanked them and showed them where to set everything up, the chair in the corner, the fan on the floor a few feet away, and the seltzer water in the bathroom. They bowed and disappeared back into the hall.

Maxon emptied Astra's glass of the regular water and replaced it with a splash of cool seltzer water, then he carried Astra to the rocking chair and sat down with her still clinging to his chest.

"How's your tummy now, Astra?" Maxon asked.

"A little better." she reported, still looking far from comfortable.

"See this bubbly water?" Maxon showed her the glass and she nodded, leaning back so that she could look him in the face. "Those bubbles will help your tummy, if you take tiny baby sips, very slowly."

"They'll help?"

"They're helper bubbles." he confirmed. "Why don't you take the tiniest little sip you've ever taken right now?"

Astra nodded and guided the cup to her lips, though Maxon still controlled the angle of the glass so that she wouldn't accidentally splash seltzer water all over the both of them.

Astra made a funny face, almost like the drink was sour, as she swallowed the liquid. "Those are strong bubbles." she said.

"Yes, and they're going to help your tummy. Let's take one more sip and then let them go to work." Maxon suggested. Astra sipped carefully, wincing again at the bitter water, and then Maxon set the glass aside. Astra returned her head to his shoulder and clung to him with her arms and legs. He rubbed her back soothingly and rocked them at a gentle, slow pace. "How's the fan? Is the air too cold?" Maxon asked.

"No. Feels good." Astra assured him, sleepily.

Maxon pressed a kiss to her hair. "I love you, Pumpkin head."

"I love you, Mackin." she echoed. "This is a fun chair." her eyelids were growing heavy, drooping under the weight of her exhaustion. It was nearly midnight, and her usual bedtime was long, long past.

"My grandmother and grandfather gave this chair to my mother when I was a baby." Maxon told her. "And she'd always sit here and rock me to sleep for naps or middle-of-the-night feedings. Then, when I got bigger, this was the chair she rocked me in when I was sick. One time I had the chicken pox, and we rocked together for days."

"Those bubbles are working, Mackin." Astra reported, with a yawn.

"Good." Maxon gently nuzzled his cheek against the top of her head. "You and your mommy can borrow this chair for a little while, if you want to. I won't need it until the baby is born. It would be a great place for a bedtime story." He was eyeing Kenna when he said this, though his tone was still gentle for Astra.

"That would be wonderful, Maxon. Thank you very much." Kenna smiled. "We'll take good care of that rocking chair for you until the baby is ready for it."

Maxon smiled at this and then closed his eyes, leaning his head back to rest against the wooden top of the chair. Astra turned her head on his chest so she could see her mother without compromising her muscular pillow. "Daddy sleeping?" she asked.

James' eyes were closed and he was lying prone on the bed, but he mumbled, "Just about, Bug."

"Sweet dreams, Daddy."

"Sweet dreams, baby." James replied, sinking further into his stack of pillows.

"Mommy, I want Kile." Astra cooed.

"Kile's sleeping, baby girl." Kenna replied, covering James with their tousled blankets, still disturbed from when Astra's sickness had first started. "If you haven't thrown up anymore by morning, we can invite him over for story time or nap time."

"I won't throw up anymore, I'll be good." Astra promised, worriedly.

"Oh, baby, no." Kenna stood up and crossed over to her daughter, running a hand over Astra's strawberry braid. "Throwing up isn't bad. It's not your fault, you can't control it. You're not in trouble, okay?"

"Okay."

"I just don't want Kile to catch this."

"Kile won't catch my sick." Astra insisted. "I won't let him."

Kenna smiled and pressed a kiss to Astra's head. "We'll just have to be very careful with him. And with you. You need to be all better in time for the ball on Saturday."

"I will!" Astra said.

"I know you will, but only if you rest up and take everything easy this week."

"And drink my bubbles." Astra pointed to the bottle of seltzer water emphatically.

"And drink your bubbles." Kenna agreed with a chuckle.

"Mackin, I have a _pretty_ dress for the ball." Astra told him, yawning and burrowing in even closer to him.

"Do you really?" he asked, and from his tone America knew he was getting sleepy just rocking with her. "What kind of dress?"

"A princess dress." she said with muted glee. She was starting to drift off, the hum of the fan and the cool breeze it created were working wonders when combined with Maxon's presence and that old rocking chair.

"Oh, I cannot wait to see you in your princess dress." Maxon smiled, and though his eyes remained closed, America could almost see a hint of mischief in that smile. He'd had an idea, he was about to get up to something. "Did you know that your Aunt Ames was a princess?"

"What?" Astra asked, surprised, lifting her head off of him to study his face and detect a lie.

"Shh." he hushed her, gently guiding her head back down. She snuggled in and he said, "That's right. Your Aunt Ames was a real, live princess. That's how she became the Queen. Queen's are grown up princesses. Did you know that?"

"No."

"It's true. But before Aunt Ames was the Queen, and before she was the Princess, she was just your mommy's baby sister. And she played the most beautiful music in the whole world." Astra yawned, clearly pleased by this story. "One day my mommy and daddy, the old King and Queen, invited your Aunt Ames to the Palace, along with lots of other girls, and they told me I could pick any one of them to marry me and, since I was the Prince, they would become princess. And I picked the smartest, strongest, funniest, wildest one of all, Aunt Ames. And she became the Princess. And then, when we got married, we became the King and Queen."

Astra drew little swirls into the fabric of Maxon's shirt with her left pointer finger as she said, "You should have married Mommy. Then I would be the Princess."

Maxon laughed softly, "Your mommy was already married to your daddy. They love each other very, very much and that's _way_ more important than being prince or princess."

"Are you sure?" she asked, skeptically.

"Very sure." Maxon chuckled. "Love is the most important thing in the world. Sometimes it turns scullery maids into princesses, and sometimes it turns princesses into scullery maids, you never know what you're going to get. It's always a surprise. But titles don't matter when you have love, because love makes you happy and strong and brave. I've seen kings grow sad and weak and fearful without love, the title doesn't matter. I was always the Prince, but until I fell in love with Aunt Ames, I was never happy or strong or brave."

"Hm." Astra considered this. "I love you Mackin."

"I love you, too, Pumpkin head."

"I love you, you can make me a princess now?" she checked, just to make sure.

Maxon chuckled, "I can give you another sip of bubbles, how about that?"

"Umm... okay."

America desperately wanted to kiss Maxon after that beautiful lesson he'd given Astra on love, but he'd been pressing lots of kisses to Astra's head, and she didn't want to expose herself to the virus so directly. Maxon's immune system would be more than up to the task of fending off the illness, but her own immune system was compromised, devoted wholly to nurturing the baby, and so she was incredibly susceptible to illness. She contented herself to slowly stand and make her way over to Maxon, running a hand through his golden hair. "Are you staying for a while?" America asked.

"Yes. I think I'd like to stay with her tonight." Maxon said.

"That's fine. I'm going to get some sleep."

"That's a great idea."

"Will you be able to sleep in that chair?"

"Oh, yes. I've slept many hours in this chair through the years."

"Not since you've been King." America reminded him.

"I'll be well-rested, I promise you."

"Alright. I love you."

"I love you, too."

America squeezed his shoulder, told the others goodnight, and then returned to her bedroom. She showered quickly to disinfect herself, and then she laid down. Thanks to her pregnancy, she was asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow.

* * *

On the morning of the Halloween ball, America awoke earlier than Maxon and spent her morning down in the ballroom, overseeing final preparations. Though Silvia kept her off her feet, and firmly planted in a cushioned chair, America still found plenty of ways to keep busy.

At noon she went upstairs to meet Maxon for lunch in his room. He wasn't there yet, but Esther was tidying up and kept America company while she waited. They spoke excitedly about the ball. This year, the maids that weren't needed to run the ball were invited to attend. Since Esther was the newest addition to America's group of maids, she'd volunteered to let Paige and Mary attend and to work the event instead. In exchange, Esther would attend the Christmas ball and Mary even offered to help make a gown for her. The prospect had a rosy blush permanently blooming on Esther's cheeks because there were many, many eligible and handsome young guards at the Christmas ball every year, and wearing one of Mary's creations would give Esther an extremely good chance at catching one of their eyes.

"Are you still reading this paper, ma'am?" Esther asked, holding up a copy of Rolph Lemex's newspaper that America had been pouring over the night before. She'd been reading the issue that had the article about Jefferson Potter again, hoping for a stroke of brilliance that never came.

"Yes." she reluctantly admitted. She still hadn't given up hope. "Put it in my room, I'm going to have another look at it tonight."

"Yes, ma'am." Esther curtsied and left to put away the paper and then to go down and check on America's lunch tray.

America kicked her shoes off and reclined against Maxon's headboard, waiting for him. Once she'd relaxed, it didn't take long for him to come bounding into the room, a ball of excited energy, something shiny held proudly in his hands.

"Look what I have, Ames." Maxon grinned, proffering what looked to be a tiny golden crown carved with intricate, beautiful floral designs.

"I see that." America said, in a confused tone. She didn't understand the importance.

"I had the jeweler make it for Astra. She's going to match us tonight!" Maxon grinned.

"Maxon... that's not real gold, is it?" The thought of giving a three-year-old such a valuable item seemed ill-advised.

"Of course not. It's a rose metal that many jewelers use to closely imitate gold, though it comes at less than half the cost."

"I see."

"This way, her princess costume will be complete."

"I can't wait to watch you crown her, my love." America smiled as he leaned in for a kiss.

Esther returned with their lunch trays and they ate together while chatting happily about the ball. America had to eat slowly or the kicking, squirming baby in her stomach would be sending all of that food back up again, so Maxon finished eating first and proceeded to have a long, involved conversation with the baby about what costume it wanted to wear to next year's ball, while America finished up her food.

It took four hours to get America completely ready that night. It would have been three hours and fifteen minutes, but she took a forty-five minute hot bath with mint oil to soften her skin. She did not regret that decision at all.

She sat as still as she could while Mary sprayed and brushed her hair, drawing out the honey hues in her red locks with product, before styling it into a beautiful, intricate twist leaving plenty of room for the crown on top to be added later. While Mary worked this sorcery, Esther held an assortment of small paintbrushes and a jar of golden, glittered body paint. Every exposed inch of America's skin was getting a swirling, shimmering design drawn on, from the neck down.

Mary and America had gone back and forth on what sort of costume would best compliment America's very pregnant physique. There was some talk of 'Mother Earth' and other maternity-themed costumes, but ultimately the most regal idea they could come up with was the sun. The ultimate source of life on earth. America would be a golden goddess for the ball, the sun itself, and Maxon was more than happy to be her counterpoint, the moon. He'd be dressed in a silver suit, wearing his silver crown for the first time since she'd known him.

Maxon came in while America was being painted, holding two ties in hand. "I've been told to ask you which to wear." Maxon reported, holding out a navy blue and a silver silk tie.

"Navy." America replied. "And a navy pocket handkerchief as well. It'll be your touch of night sky, just as my eyes are my touch of day sky." Not just the brilliant blue color of her eyes, but her eye makeup would also be an elaborate, intricate nod to the clear blue skies of summer.

Maxon saluted these orders and returned to his room to finish getting ready.

At last America was in her golden gown, made like an elegant toga but with two shoulders instead of the traditional one, and a long scoop of fabric in the front and back to display just the barest hint of her newly swollen cleavage, and the straight, elegant line of her upper back (the last straight, elegant line she seemed to have on her body, at least until the baby was born). The dark golden, shimmering fabric clung tight to the top of her belly and then cascaded down in a flowing waterfall all the way to the floor. As part of a concession to Maxon's wishes, the dress completely hid America's feet, and she would be wearing well-cushioned flats with plenty of ankle support all night long. In truth, America had been dreading the thought of wearing heels to the ball all week, so this was not a difficult concession to make.

Mary and Paige left to quickly get themselves ready, and Esther remained behind to finish America off. The only jewelry she'd be wearing in this glittering, golden ensemble was one of her golden crowns and her wedding ring. She didn't need anything else, so Esther's job was very easy.

Maxon came in just as Esther finished fixing the crown to America's head, and his jaw dropped at the sight of his wife. He took a moment to catch his breath, "Wow... you know, when you said you were going as 'the sun', I pictured neon yellow. I had no idea..." he moved closer, reaching out to take her hand, then tracing one of the intricate painted designs up her arm. "Who did these?"

"I did, your Majesty." Esther smiled, pleased with herself.

"This is stunning work, Esther. I had no idea you were such an artist."

Esther blushed at this, eyes widening, "I'm not, your Majesty, I'm a maid."

"You're much more than your occupation." Maxon insisted. "There are Fives out there without half of your talent, struggling to make their way as artists in this Kingdom because they have no other options."

"I have a feeling body paint will catch on as a craze amongst the upper castes after tonight." America smiled, eyeing herself in the mirror. She really did look resplendent, and she didn't mind admitting it because nothing about her appearance tonight boasted of natural beauty except the color of her hair and the shocking blue of her irises, neither of which she'd earned when she came into this world. Everything else was the hard work and dedication of her maids, and she didn't mind admiring that a single bit. "Perhaps there will be other Sixes out there with this talent, working as servants, that will manage to earn some extra money for the winter thanks to what you've done tonight. Maybe some painter Fives will be commissioned, as well."

"That would be wonderful." Esther agreed.

"And it's all thanks to you." Maxon smiled at Esther.

"Her Majesty is the one who will bring about the craze." Esther objected.

"But it wasn't my idea. The paint was your idea, and it's magnificent."

"Thank you, your Majesty." Esther demurred, blushing scarlet, eyes dropping to the floor. America had the feeling that if she and Maxon complimented her one more time, Esther would melt into a puddle on the floor and slip away forever.

Maxon turned to America with a wink, clearly thinking they'd embarrassed Esther enough for one night. "If you're ready, we need to head down the hall and give Astra her present. Kenna said they'd be heading down a few minutes early so that they could be well-situated before you and I are announced and we commence the festivities."

"That sounds wonderful." America smiled, slipping her arm through Maxon's.

Esther curtsied deeply as they left the room, which only compounded the regal feeling America had about her. She usually felt this way when she wore the crown, especially when she was on Maxon's arm and he was wearing his crown, too. There were whole weeks that would go by, living in that palace, when America wouldn't feel a bit like a queen. When everything was menu planning and charity work and writing thank you letters, and nothing was glamorous or exciting in the least. And then there were days like this, when even walking down the hall to her three-year-old niece's room, America felt like, not just _a _queen, but _the_ Queen.

Maxon had Astra's little golden crown hidden behind his back, but as they walked he told America that he'd stopped by to see Kenna earlier in the day to warn her not to style Astra's hair up that night. Kenna, at least, was aware that the gift was coming. He knocked importantly on Astra's bedroom door, and the door swung open immediately to reveal Astra beaming on the other side.

"Mackin!"

"Good evening, Princess." Maxon bowed deeply, releasing America's arm and wrapping that hand behind his back, too, thoroughly concealing his surprise gift. "I am looking for my Pumpkin head. Have you seen her?"

Astra's smile faltered as she studied his face, trying to decide if he really didn't know her. "Mackin, it's me!"

Maxon winked up at her so that she wouldn't worry and then broke into a wide smile, "Oh my goodness! Astra! I had no idea, you look just like a princess!"

"Thank you, Mackin." Astra wobbled down in an imitation curtsey and Maxon smiled so hard it looked like his cheeks might fall off.

From behind Astra, Kenna's voice whispered loudly, "Invite them inside, your highness."

"Come inside!" Astra exclaimed, stepping back so that America and Maxon could step into her bedroom.

The room itself was primarily pale pink, with rosebud accents on the bedspread, curtains, and doilies. It was sparsely furnished by Palace standards, but more than enough for little Astra with a mirror, a canopy bed, a nightstand, and a door leading to her parent's room. Blinky the bear held a place of pride on her frilly bed, on the edge of which Kenna and James were also perched.

Maxon was very careful to keep Astra from seeing what he had behind his back as he stepped in, "And what are your parents supposed to be?"

"Um... Daddy is from sports." Astra said, not entirely certain what James' imitation soccer uniform meant. "And Mommy is a ladybug." Kenna did, indeed, wear a beautiful red dress that accented her curves magnificently, covered in large black spots that she'd hand-stitched on, especially for the occasion.

"And you are a princess." Maxon nodded, then he seemed to study her closely. "But wait a moment. Don't princesses have crowns?"

Astra bit her lip, trying not to let her disappointment show. She hadn't wanted Maxon to find any fault in her special princess dress, which was the pale blue America had favored during Maxon's Selection, but with a frilly and puffy skirt like a ballerina tutu. "I don't have one, and my yellow crayon broke..." she was on the verge of tears.

"Yes." Kenna added, her tone bracing, "Astra was going to make a crown, but her yellow crayon is broken and it can't make one that's beautiful enough, according to her. We have quite the stack of failed attempts, I assure you."

Astra sniffled. "I'm still a princess, right Mackin?"

America looked over at her husband's face, and her eyes widened in surprise. There were tears in Maxon's chocolate brown eyes as he peeked down at his vulnerable little niece, even though he held the solution to her troubles in hand, right behind his back. Geez. _She _was supposed to be the one with irrational hormones. But America just couldn't stop the smile at her husband, behaving in such an endearing, yet absurd way while wearing his own crown on his head.

"You are every bit a princess, my love, and it's very lucky for you that I'm the King."

"Why?" she asked, still looking crestfallen.

"Because I have a friend who makes crowns anytime I ask him to. And when you were sick, and you told me about your costume, I asked my friend to make a crown especially for you, as a feel-better present."

Astra blinked up at him, confused, "What?"

Maxon beamed and knelt down, the King of Illéa brought to his knees by this little girl. "This is for you, Pumpkin." Maxon said, bringing his hands around to reveal the beautiful, handcrafted gold-colored crown.

Astra's jaw dropped as her lips spread into a wide grin, looking between Maxon and the little crown for confirmation. "That's for me?"

"That's for you, to go with your beautiful costume, my princess."

Astra didn't know what to do, she was overwhelmed. She looked between Maxon and the crown, and finally back to her mother. "Mommy, look!"

"I see it, baby girl." Kenna grinned. She leant into James, whose arm was wrapped tight around her, as they smiled down at the exchange. "It's beautiful and it's just for you. What do you say?"

"Thank you, Mackin!" Astra wrapped Maxon in a tight hug and Maxon hugged her back, just as hard.

"Alright, here we go." Maxon said, holding the little crown up with both hands and then lowering it gently onto Astra's head. The fit was perfect. "Come, your highness." Maxon smiled, standing up and dusting off his knees, "Let's see how you look in the mirror."

Maxon stood just behind Astra as she twirled in front of the full-length mirror, giggling. She stared and stared at the crown on her head for several long moments and then turned to Maxon, hands lifted in the air. Maxon took his cue to sweep her up into his strong arms, settling her on his hip. "What do you think?"

"It's beautiful!"

"Good." Maxon kissed her cheek and then carried her over to America. "I need a picture of the Queen and the Princess for my collection." Maxon said, seriously, pulling the little red camera America had given him for his birthday out of his breast pocket. He always kept it there, though sometimes America forgot and therefore wasn't expecting it when he whipped it out to snap pictures of her face covered in chocolate or of her particularly inventive pregnancy cravings. He also had a sneaky habit of snapping photographs of her growing belly in profile, when she wasn't paying attention. She never would allow him to take pictures of just her girth, otherwise. But tonight, after all of the hard work her maids had done on her, she felt beautiful, and was more than happy to pose for the picture with Astra. It would be the first of many that night, as _Report _video cameras and official royal photographers would both be present to capture the festivities.

When Maxon was satisfied that he had the picture he wanted, Astra reached up for Maxon's hand and started dragging him off to where she knew the party would be.

"I suppose we're going a few minutes early, my love." Maxon called back over his shoulder.

America grinned, "Fine by me."

Astra was technically in the lead, tugging Maxon along by his hand. Kenna and James walked arm-in-arm behind them, and America followed beside Kenna.

"So my dad took a tour of your old house yesterday." James announced to America.

"What did he think?"

"He's got big ideas for freshening up the paint and fixing some of the drafts that come in through the windows." James grinned. "I think he's going to take to it just fine."

"Good. That makes me happy." America smiled.

"He wants you and Maxon to come and give it your blessing, once it's ready for guests."

"As long as the baby is old enough for travel, I can't see why not." America said. "It really was nice to be there, all together... even though..." she faltered at the thought of Kota's death.

Kenna cast her an understanding look. "There are things we know he'd be proud of, Ames. Anything that succeeds monetarily, like a thriving bed-and-breakfast, would have his complete support. And we don't even have to worry about all of the things that might have bothered him, because those things can't bother him anymore. We can focus entirely on the positive."

America sighed, nodding. "You know what, Kenna? I'm going to like having you around the Palace for the next eighteen years."

"Maybe longer," Kenna grinned, "Depending on how many little potential heirs you give Maxon."

They arrived at the grand staircase and Kenna and James began descending gracefully. Astra was using Maxon to keep her balance as she cautiously traversed the stairs, Maxon peering down at her like she'd disappear if he looked away for too long.

"Um... Max?" America called, and Maxon paused, turning back in confusion. The moment he saw her hesitating on the top step he realized his mistake.

"Wait here, Astra. Aunt Ames and the baby need my arm, too."

Astra stood still, hands on her puffy skirt, looking back up as Maxon bounded to America's side and gallantly offered her his arm. "Are you alright, my love?" he asked when he was close enough that only she would hear.

"Very alright," America reassured him. "You are the handsomest husband in the world with that little girl on your arm, do you know that?"

Maxon grinned, "I'm a lucky, lucky man. Thank you for choosing me."

"Thank _you_ for choosing _me_." America smiled as she carefully felt her way down the steps.

"Why are you wobbly, Aunt Ames?" Astra called up.

"Because of the baby. See how big it is in my tummy?"

"Yeah."

"It makes me wobbly on stairs."

"Oh." Astra nodded understandingly as Maxon scooped her up and placed her on his hip so that he could help both of them down safely.

"Wow, Maxon." James called up. He and Kenna were waiting at the bottom of the staircase for the others to catch up to them. "You look pretty good with one in your arm and one on the way."

Maxon grinned at this, looking between the two red heads he had his hands on. "We'd be happy with two, wouldn't we, Ames?"

"Extremely." America agreed as she steadily worked her way down.

"Maybe a girl and a boy. Two girls. Two boys!" Maxon chuckled.

"There's no combination that wouldn't lead to a happy life for us." America said, "Even if this was the only baby we ever had, we'd have all of our nieces and nephews to spoil rotten."

"I agree." Maxon grinned, peeking over at Astra out of the corner of his eye. She was mesmerized by her proximity to his real crown.

"But Maxon and I have always had some kind of understanding." America said as they finally made it to the bottom of the steps. She looped her arm through Kenna's and Maxon used his free hand to double up on Astra. "We only actually talked about it for a brief moment-"

"And well before we were even married!" Maxon laughed.

"We both just _know_ that we want a big family."

Kenna smirked at this. "Does 'big' have a number attached to it?"

America shrugged and looked back at Maxon, who shook his head. He said, "The more the merrier, our unspoken plan is to take it one at a time and decide if we have it in us to handle another as we go."

Kenna just shook her head and shared a look with James. "We're going to have twenty nieces and nephews from them, James."

James stroked his chin thoughtfully. "We could put together quite the intramural water polo league, between the two of us, Maxon."

"I like the way you think, James."

"Between your twenty and my ten, and any May or Gerad manage to contribute, we could have tournaments every year!"

Kenna cast a withering look at James, who knew very well that she'd only recently agreed to having a second child, and had certainly never gone so far as to agree to ten. James pretended to be indignant at this look, "You have to allow a man to have dreams, Ken."

"Yeah!" Maxon nodded. "Dreams."

Kenna and America laughed at this as their husbands continued ahead with planning their future Palace sports league all the way until they got to the private entrance to the ballroom.

"Alright." Maxon said, planting a big kiss on Astra's cheek. "You go in with your mommy and daddy, and Aunt Ames and I will be inside in a minute."

"Come with me, Mackin!" Astra pleaded.

"Aunt Ames and I have to go in together, they do a special announcement for the King and Queen, and they take our pictures when we walk in." Maxon explained.

"But I have a crown, too." Astra said. "I'll stay with you."

Maxon considered this. "Actually, I think I might need your help."

"Really?" Astra's large eyes grew rounder at the thought.

"Your Aunt Ames promised me there would be brownies on the menu."

"Brownies?!" Astra squeaked.

America nodded, "I made sure there were brownies on the list because I know that they're your favorite, Astra."

"Thank you." Astra breathed, like she'd just been given a holy treasure.

"But I don't know where the brownies are going to be." Maxon said. "Do you think you could go in with your mommy and daddy and find the brownies for me? Then, as soon as I'm done with the pictures, I can come find you and we can share a brownie."

Astra grinned toothily, "Yeah. I can do that."

"Good. You make a good teammate, Princess Pumpkin head."

Astra giggled as Maxon swooped her down to the floor, lowering her at breakneck speed but stopping an inch above the ground and setting her down gently. "Again! Mackin, again!" Astra laughed, but James and Kenna were already leading her off into the ballroom, reminding her of the chocolate to come.

America found an elegant bench a few feet away from the entrance to the ballroom, and lowered herself down carefully. "You're going to be the best father in the whole world, Maxon." America said, matter-of-factly.

There were still times when Maxon had his doubts, but he grinned over at the closed door that Astra had disappeared behind and then turned that smile on America. "Well, I can't wait to try my best, at any rate." He came over and joined her on the bench, perching a hand on her stomach. "You're looking especially round today, do you feel rounder?" he asked, chuckling.

"I feel like the next husband that tells me that I look round is going to receive a sharp kick to the thigh." America said, pointedly.

Maxon lifted his hands up in surrender. "You have remarkably poor aim when it comes to your kicking, I shall have to avoid that wrath wherever possible."

"Poor aim?"

"You might be aiming for the thigh, but that's never what you hit." He winced at the memory.

America laughed and then leant over, pressing a kiss to his cheek. "I'm sorry I hurt you, Maxon."

"It's fine." he pouted, but then he brightened up, "After all, I was still able to help conceive this active little one." he returned his hand to her stomach. "So there must not have been any permanent damage."

America studied his face closely as he examined her stomach, his handsome features lit up with almost boyish reverence.

"What?" Maxon asked, when he caught her staring.

America smiled warmly and said, "Nothing. I just love you, that's all."

Maxon let out a short laugh, a sound filled with joy, and then he leant over to capture her lips. It was a solid three minutes later before he relinquished them, and only then because the guard at the door had arrived to tell them that it was time to make their grand entrance.

The guests were milling about, eating and drinking already. The master of ceremonies called out for attention and then enthusiastically announced 'King Maxon and Queen America Schreave'.

"Love," Maxon leant over to whisper in her ear, excitedly, as the stepped down towards the dance floor. "That was the last time they'll ever be announcing just us. It'll be just me at Christmas, and at New Years it will be all three of us." he beamed. They could hear the cameras snapping away, capturing them, and America knew that Maxon would somehow look more radiant with that handsome, amazed smile on than she did in her entire golden sun costume.

America laughed at him affectionately. "We should really decide what name they're going to be announcing, then, shouldn't we?"

Maxon winked at her in agreement and led her out onto the cleared dance floor. For a moment, as they waited for the musicians to flip to the waltz America had chosen to dance to with Maxon that night, Maxon just studied her, smirking.

"What?" America asked.

"You've just gotten so big, that's all. I think you're having another growth spurt." He said grinned.

America narrowed her eyes and then lowered them to his thigh pointedly. "Careful, your royal husbandness."

Maxon laughed and wrapped his arm around her, taking her hand in his to prepare for the dance. "Look at that." he said, warmly. "You still fit perfectly in my arms."

This served its purpose in melting away all of her annoyance at once.

America had personally rearranged the waltz, handwriting the adjusted music so that the song would be shorter, designed to spare her feet and legs from too much waltzing. America had never actually heard of premature labor brought on by too much waltzing, but she did not want to be the first case in medical history.

Maxon bowed deeply to her when the dance was over, though she could manage only the shallowest of curtsies in reply. He took her arm and guided her over to the table that the royal family would be sharing that night, and then Astra found him.

At the sight of Maxon's dance being over, the little princess had escaped her mother's grasp and bolted across the ballroom, brownie held up triumphantly in her tiny hand. "Mackin, I got one!" she exclaimed as she dashed to his side.

"Oh, that looks like a good one. Have you tried it?" he laughed, knowing for a certainty that she had tried it by the chocolate smeared on her face.

"Yeah, they're the best." Astra took a bite and then held it up to him.

Maxon made sure America was well situated in her chair before taking the brownie from Astra and having his own bite. "That delicious." he groaned.

"There's a whole bunch of them, Mackin, there's so many!" Astra told him excitedly.

"We'll have to pace ourselves." Maxon said, taking another bite and then handing it back for Astra to finish. "There's a lot of other food to try here, too."

Kenna and James finally caught up to their daughter and Kenna grinned, "Did you share the brownie, baby girl?"

"Yeah." Astra's cheeks were puffed up as she finished the last bite. "I shared it."

"Good job." James knelt down, licking a paper napkin and using it to wipe Astra's mouth clean.

"We can dance now?" Astra asked Maxon.

"Is that alright, James? Can I steal your little girl for her first dance of the evening?" Maxon asked.

"Yeah, I'll have my first dance with my wife." James grinned. "But I'm next, Bug." he told Astra seriously.

"Okay, Daddy." Astra said, already dragging Maxon off to the dance floor, tugging hard against his hand. "Mackin, look at my shoes! They're special. They're ballet slippers so I can dance all night and I can jump like this!" and she leapt into the air before she and Maxon disappeared into the crowd of the dance floor.

James and Kenna were quick to find their own place on the dance floor, leaving America alone at the family table for the moment. Magda was dancing with one of Maxon's assistant advisers, May was with a guard whose face America could not see, and Gerad was exploring mixing sparkling water and various fruit punches.

America wasn't alone for long, however. Aspen, Lucy, and baby Meri were on their way over to greet her.

"I didn't know you were coming!" America exclaimed as they got close enough to hear each other.

"It was a last minute decision." Lucy grinned. "Lena made this adorable little flower costume for Meri, so we decided that we had to drop by and show it off." Meri had a bow tied around her head with a sunflower at its zenith, and her little dress was stitched with green leafs.

"I need to get back to my station." Aspen said, kissing Lucy, then dropping a kiss onto Meri's forehead. "Have fun. Let me know when you're ready to head home and I'll call a car around."

America grinned and held out her arms for Meri, taking a moment to figure out how to hold the baby with so little lap left. The moment she got the girl situated, Meri decided that she wanted to move. In the end, they compromised, and America ended up bouncing the baby on her knee.

Meri's wide, curious eyes roamed the ballroom with wild abandon, absorbing everything she possibly could.

"I'm glad you came tonight."

"Me, too." Lucy grinned. "I needed to get out of the house."

"I think Meri's grown, just since we got back from Carolina."

"Oh, she definitely has. And so has yours." Lucy shook her head. "I can't believe it. I leave you along for two months and all of the sudden, you're ready to pop."

"I am _not_ ready to pop." America corrected. "I need to keep this baby inside of me for as long as possible. That amendment needs to be signed, sealed, and delivered before I even think of giving birth."

Lucy nodded, understandingly. "What about the nursery? Is that all set up?"

America winced, "Well... it's on the Palace calendar. We have it scheduled."

Lucy sighed. "I should have known you wouldn't get to do anything the easy way. Hasn't not having the nursery done been driving you crazy, with the nesting?"

"I haven't really started nesting yet, I don't think." America said. "I mean, I've been tidier than usual in my office and I've reorganized my desk about five times, but I haven't gotten any 'rearrange all of the furniture, start hoarding supplies' instincts yet."

"That'll come soon." Lucy grinned. "Mine hit me early. I was sewing baby blankets and stocking up on laundry detergent by the middle of my second trimester."

"Laundry detergent?" America asked.

Lucy shrugged, "I don't know why. But we've used it all by now, so it worked out."

Maxon and Kenna came back from the dance floor, leaving James and Astra to share their special dance, and Maxon grinned with glee at the sight of baby Meri. "Look at all of these Americas!" Maxon exclaimed, swooping down to kiss his wife's cheek. "I'm in heaven." he concluded, offering Meri a finger and watching as she latched onto it and shook it around a little before releasing him. "How are you doing, Lucy?" Maxon asked.

"Very well, your Majesty."

On America's knee, Meri started bouncing, shaking her arms and legs in rhythm like a dance. America laughed, "See, I recognize that move. That's something our baby likes to do all day long."

Maxon laughed, "She's dancing. Maybe our baby is a dancer, too."

"You really think any baby of mine could be a dancer?" America asked, incredulously, of her infamous lack of dancing skills.

"Why not? I've got great moves." Maxon demonstrated an awkward little two-step and America rolled her eyes.

"I rest my case."

Lucy swept her hyperactive daughter back into her arms and began working to soothe her.

Maxon turned to America, "Kenna's taking a dance break, and then I've got the next dance with her. After that, I just need to check off your mother and May, and then I get to dance with you again."

"Won't you be exhausted?"

"I'll find the strength." he promised.

It turned out that it was easier than America had thought it would be, to spend most of a Halloween ball seated in a chair. Every once in a while she got up and walked around to greet people, running into Elise and Rolph, or Marlee and Carter. She'd be photographed in her magnificent costume, do a quick interview with Gavril, and then return to her seat to rest and enjoy the food.

At one point, she noticed Gerad dancing with one of Stavros' granddaughters, and another time she found Astra and Kile twirling and spinning around in their own little corner of the dance floor. She made sure Maxon got a picture of that.

Lucy left very early, needing to feed Meri and put her to bed, but it was still such a comfort that she'd made it to the party in the first place. It gave America hope that her whole life wouldn't be exhaustion and diapers, once the baby was born.

America was on her fourth dance with Maxon when she let her first wince slip.

"Is it your back?" Maxon asked, worriedly.

"My feet." America corrected. "Nothing to be concerned with."

"Maybe you should head upstairs? Astra and Kenna are getting ready to head up for the night, too."

As with Maxon's birthday party, the temptation to leave early with her sister and niece was great. This time, they'd have a personal escort of guards to ensure their safety, although no breaches or abnormalities in security had been reported all evening. There were no outside teams of contractors in the Palace, everyone here was a fingerprinted, verified member of Palace staff. Security was tight to say the least.

"I think I'll just sit for a while. I want to stay in this dress, and I'm not ready to wash off Esther's work of art." America smiled.

"It is magnificent. Maybe she can paint you up for all of the holiday balls this year. I'd love to see you done up in Christmas trees."

America laughed at the thought, "I think someone with Esther's artistic integrity would go for swirls of silver to emulate snow, over bright green Christmas trees."

"We'll see whose idea she likes better." Maxon said confidently as the song ended and he bowed to her.

Tenderly, America returned to her seat. Kenna and Magda were both seated and chatting.

"I promise a foot massage tonight, Love." Maxon said in her ear. "Thank you for skipping the high heels, even though this is a public event. It means a lot to me."

America accepted the thanks without bothering to tell him that, at the moment, she couldn't imagine ever wearing high heels again, and that he was right about those kinds of shoes being too uncomfortable. She knew that if she let him think she'd made a grand concession in wearing the flats instead, maybe she could convince him to turn that foot massage into a foot massage and a trip to the pool together tomorrow...

Maxon went off to mingle with some more guests, leaving America to join in the conversation that her mother and older sister were having, one that Astra had now joined.

Over the course of the evening, between wild dancing, twirling, leaping, playing tag with Kile, and sneaking at least three extra brownies without getting caught, on top of the ones she was actually given permission to eat, Astra's little crown had grown lopsided on her now messy hair. She had the look of a child run ragged by childhood, a healthy, rosie, but exhausted look.

"No, Mommy, I wanna dance with Mackin again!"

"You can dance with him any time you want to, baby, but it's getting very late-"

"We have our crowns on, we match!" Astra insisted.

"Maxon is the King, Astra." Magda reminded her. "He can wear a crown any time he wants to. You'll have more chances to match."

"But _Gramma_!" Astra countered, heading quickly towards a toddler meltdown.

Kenna sensed it coming, too, and stood, "Alright, princess, lets go say goodnight to Kile and head upstairs."

"NO!" Astra squealed, so loudly that others near the head table looked over just to make sure everyone was alright.

Maxon caught on to what was happening and quickly hurried back over. "Astra, why are you screaming?"

"I wanna dance, Mackin!" Astra begged.

Maxon took in Kenna's frazzled face, ascertaining the situation. "And what does your mommy want you to do?"

"Sleep." Astra pouted.

Maxon's expression begged Kenna to trust him as he dipped down to pick up Astra, "Oh, well that's not so bad."

"Yes it is!"

"Look how tired your mommy is. Don't you think she'd like some time to sit in the rocking chair with you and snuggle up?"

"But I want to dance." Astra argued, weakly, stifling a yawn.

"Okay, let's have one more dance." Maxon agreed. "One dance, and then you go take your mommy to bed. And we can dance again tomorrow, and the day after that, and the day after that."

"Forever?"

Maxon winced, "Until my feet can't dance anymore." he promised instead.

Astra weighed this proposal in her mind. "We dance now?"

"Yes."

"And tomorrow?"

"Yes."

"But I take mommy to bed because she sleepy?"

"Yes."

"...brownie?"

"I think you've had enough." Maxon chuckled.

She nodded, considering this and deciding he was right. "Okay." she agreed.

Maxon picked her up and swayed on the spot with her for their dance. The orchestra was already mid-song for the people on the dance floor, so Maxon started humming a little tune just for the two of them. Astra kept her eyes on his, or his crown, the whole time, her own eyes growing heavier and heavier. This wasn't so much a dance as a lullaby with a soothing sway, and Astra had been tricked into it.

When it was over, Maxon handed Astra over to Kenna, and Astra yawned, "Come on, Mommy. You look sleepy."

Kenna giggled, "_I_ look sleepy?"

"Yes." Astra said, laying her head down on Kenna's shoulder.

"_Good_ job, Maxon." Kenna praised him, as she stood. "That was very well done."

"Thanks." Maxon rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.

Just then, Avery came up behind Maxon and bowed, "Your Majesty." he said, before leaning in and whispering something in Maxon's ear. Maxon's expression hardened.

"Bring me Woodwork and Leger."

America's heartbeat nearly doubled as she watched Avery hurry off. "We secured _everything_ Maxon." she insisted, a tone of denial in her voice.

Maxon simply shook his head. Then he turned to Kenna, "Stay." he commanded.

Gavril was wandering by with Silvia on his arm, apparently he was done filming segments for the _Report_. "Gavril!" Maxon called, and Gavril hurried over, frowning as he saw the expression on his King's face.

"Your Majesty?" Gavril bowed.

"Find Stavros and bring him to me."

"Yes, sir." Gavril hurried off, leaving Silvia standing, confused, in his wake. America waved her over, wanting her own top adviser for whatever was about to come.

"Maxon, what did Avery say?" America asked.

Maxon leant in and whispered softly, "There was a shot fired on the third floor."

America stood still, letting that sink in. "Just one?"

"Just one."

So not a major attack. Not an attempt to kill everyone at the ball. Just an attempt to kill one person in particular.

America cursed, not bothering to keep her voice down, "Why does he do this, Maxon? Why does he wait until he knows we won't be on the third floor?"

"We don't know anything, Love, it could have been a faulty weapon." America cast him a supremely sarcastic look at that, and Maxon shrugged, "We're gathering intelligence."

"He knows the third floor is less secure when we're down here, and that security is focused down here when we're hosting events, but why use the same plan that failed on your birthday? That just doesn't make sense, we're supposed to be dealing with a mastermind here."

"If it was even him, my love, you must remember that he doesn't have the support within the Palace that he had, even a few months ago. No one would sneak him in or leak our schedules to him, whoever used to do that for him abandoned him. He might not have had any choice but to use the old tactic again."

America shook her head. "Where is he? I'm going to kill him."

"What?" Astra asked, looking up from her mother's shoulder.

Maxon frowned, "We think there might be a rat on the third floor, Pumpkin head. We're waiting to see if our guards caught him or if he snuck away."

"Ew." Astra frowned.

Aspen, Carter, and Avery almost tied Stavros in arriving at Maxon's side.

"The threat?" Maxon asked.

"Not severe." Aspen reported. "This was not a coordinated attack."

Carter nodded, "If you evacuate the party, we'll have more men free to hunt down the assailant."

"I need a lie to get them out of here, then." Maxon said.

America was quick to volunteer, "A pipe burst in the kitchens. The staff are needed to help clean up the mess and repair the damage. We need to end the party to free up the staff, not the guards."

"Could someone actually go down and burst a pipe so that we don't have a palace full of staff who realize they've been lied to?" Maxon asked, snaking an arm around America's back in thanks for her quick idea.

"I'll send someone." Aspen nodded.

"Should the royal family be evacuated to a safe room?" Maxon asked, seriously.

"No." Aspen and Carter both answered at the same time.

"They'll be fine staying here with one guard each, protecting them until we know if the lone gunman is out of Palace walls." Aspen said.

"I want one of you three to be America's guard." he said, seriously. "And Astra counts, she gets her own guard, too." he added in a hushed tone.

"Of course." Aspen agreed.

"Go." Maxon ordered. "Bring me the person who did this."

"Yes, sir." All three of them saluted and took off quickly.

"I'll go make the announcement to end the ball." Maxon said to America. "Stay right here. Do not move." Stavros and Silvia hurried off to assist in getting everyone out quickly and efficiently.

It didn't take long for the ballroom to empty out and the guests to head home. The royal family sat tight at their little table, Astra now all but passed out in Kenna's arms, her little mouth hanging wide open as she breathed, her little crown clutched tightly in her little hands so that it wouldn't stab Kenna's arm every time Astra moved her head.

Soon the guards were visible, and Avery was the one posted nearest America. There were two guards standing near Kenna, and together they formed a human wall of muscle and precision, shielding Astra from everything. James certainly seemed to appreciate Maxon's order, having the extra guard just for his baby girl.

Gerad also moved closer to America in what was clearly an attempt to protect her from whatever was happening, and his guard followed him over. They were friends, apparently they'd gone running together during guard training, so Gerad was calling this man by name, asking questions about the perimeter and the interior, and things even America wasn't entirely certain the meaning of.

Soon Maxon was back, and then Aspen, who reported, "We found the tunnel used by the assailant, we believe it was K based on evidence found on the third floor."

"Another playing card?"

"A King of Spades." Aspen nodded.

"He's gone?"

"Vanished, but we have footage of him fleeing the Palace grounds."

"You saw his face?"

"Just the back of his head." Aspen winced.

Maxon frowned, cursing. "Where were his friends? The rest of the rebels?"

"I don't know, sir, but it appears he acted entirely alone tonight."

"Maybe he wasn't working off of their agenda this time." America suggested. "If it wasn't an attempt on your life or my life, they might not have wanted to risk invading the Palace."

"What else could it have been?"

"The card was found outside your room." Aspen agreed.

"Outside?" America asked. "Couldn't he get inside?"

"We believe he was found almost immediately on entering your room, Ma'am, which is when the shot was fired."

"So late?" Maxon asked. "He waited this late to stage his attack? He must have been looking for you, America, he must have thought you'd have gone up to bed."

America just shook her head, "Was there a note?"

"No note." Aspen confirmed.

Maxon rubbed his forehead, hard. "Any injuries?"

"One death, no injuries." Aspen reported.

"Who was shot?" America asked, afraid of the answer.

"I didn't recognize the victim." Aspen said. "Perhaps you could come upstairs and take a look?"

Maxon narrowed his eyes, "That depends. Is my palace safe again?"

"These guards will be with you all night." Aspen reported. "And the tunnels are being swept again, as we speak."

"That's not a 'yes' or a 'no', Leger." Maxon growled.

"Yes, your palace is safe." Aspen reported, through gritted teeth.

"Fisher?" Maxon called, to the guard standing nearest Astra and Kenna.

"Sir?" Fisher saluted.

"You stay on that little girl, don't so much as sneeze in a different direction."

"Yes, sir." Fisher nodded.

"Same for you, Avery." Maxon said, softer, looking between the guard and America. "That's my little family you're protecting."

"Yes, sir." Avery sounded more like he was taking an oath than acknowledging an order.

The whole royal family, and the guard contingent, made their way up to the third floor slowly, somberly. The royal family piled into Magda's bedroom, which was large and had more than enough space for everyone to lay down. May, Gerad, and Astra would even claim a spot with Magda in the bed. There was an empty bedroom that adjoined to Magda's, they'd likely throw that door open and have some overflow space for sleeping in there. America planned to join them later, though she doubted very much whether Maxon would be getting any sleep that night.

Astra's guard stood watch by the window in Magda's bedroom, the other guards secured every feasible entry point, and several stood stationed in the hall, on lookout.

America and Maxon were the only ones, along with Avery and Aspen, who continued down the hall. America clutched Aspen's hand tightly, as they neared her bedroom. The door stood wide open, a trail of red blood leading inside. A guard came out on hearing them approach, holding a camera in the hand that he did not use to salute. He'd been taking pictures of the crime scene.

Maxon was the first into the room, and America followed right behind, lacing her fingers through his, careful to step around the blood trail. The mess on the floor by the door was startling, more blood mixed with makeup, brushes, and papers. America wondered if K hadn't been going through her things, until her eyes fell upon the victim lying dead on her bedroom floor.

It was Esther.

Esther, the maid who hadn't sold the secret of the royal baby to the paparazzi, even when it could have made her enough money to live off of forever.

Esther, the girl whose last name was really 'Fields', who had an amazing talent for painting, who was supposed to go to the Christmas ball and find a husband while wearing a dress fit for a queen.

It was Esther, sprawled on her stomach in a pool of blood so large that it still hadn't soaked all the way into the carpet yet.


	46. Chapter 46

Maxon was talking to the guard with the camera, his tone grave, his voice going up at the ends of his sentences. Questions. Maxon was asking questions.

America's eyes burned, but she wasn't tired or even crying. She blinked, and relief coated over the sting. Blink. She had to remember to blink.

The smell was overpowering. Even during the massive rebel attack, when Maxon had laid bleeding in her arms, the smell hadn't been like this. The baby squirmed uncomfortably, and America remembered to blink again. This was one night when she could have done without being pregnant, or at least without the superhuman olfactory senses that were currently sickening her.

"We'll have a coroner conduct an official autopsy, of course, your Majesty." the camera guard was saying, "But the cause of death is likely to be ruled a drowning."

"A drowning?" America asked, surprised. It was the first time she'd spoken since discovering Esther's body.

"Yes, ma'am." The guard's tone was gentle, if not quite sympathetic. "I can't be certain, but based on the placement of the bullet, it appears that blood likely flooded her lungs, resulting in her being unable to breathe and-"

"Drowning." America concluded, her voice sounded strange, hollow and even a little bit cold.

"Where was the shot fired?" Maxon asked.

"Based on the trail leading into her Majesty's bedroom, as well as gunpowder residue on the doorframe, it's safe to say that the shot was fired from close range in the hallway outside of her Majesty's bedroom, and then the victim-"

"Esther." America insisted. "Esther Fields."

Maxon brushed his hand fleetingly across America's lower back in a gesture meant to reassure her, before he recrossed his arms.

The guard did not fight America on using Esther's name, instead he maintained propriety by avoiding the issue, "Upon being shot, it appears that _she_ crawled back into her Majesty's bedroom. It is unlikely the assailant pursued her, owing to the fact that he would not have had time to escape before guards arrived and help was called."

"Guards arrived?" America asked. "Someone was with her when she died?"

"Yes, ma'am, Officer Brentwood, ma'am."

"Did she say anything?" America asked. "Did she have last words?"

Maxon and the camera guard shared an uncomfortable look, then Maxon said in an almost patronizingly sympathetic tone, "Ames, she was drowning. She couldn't have spoken."

"Oh. Yes, of course." America agreed, her face, heart, and voice made of stone. "That was silly of me, I apologize."

Maxon frowned at this, but he did not say anything to her. Instead, he turned back to the camera guard and started asking all sorts of horrible things about when 'the body' would be taken to the morgue, and the soonest the photographic evidence could be analyzed.

Everything within America was motionless, frozen solid. She knew she was in shock, and she very much appreciated it. There was no panic, no anguish, no fear. Just calm, still silence. And a voice. Not a person's voice, an internal voice. An impulse, really. Her oddly heightened instincts were somehow breaking through the dense fog of shock that hung over her, probably thanks to her pregnancy. Something was not right.

She gazed down at Esther's unmoving face resting against the carpet, turned to the side. Her eyes were closed and her face was relaxed, like sleeping. America had been worried that Esther's face might have been contorted, frozen in the horror of her final moments on earth, but it at least appeared that Esther's last heartbeat could have been a peaceful one.

"Ames?" America heard Maxon call, and she looked up to see her husband with a concerned expression on his handsome features. She realized it was possible he'd had to call her name more than once to get her attention. "We should go."

"No."

"I want to make sure there's time to reassure your family before bed."

"Reassure them of _what_, exactly?" America asked, irritated that he was trying to force her to leave before she was ready. "That the same man who killed Kota was able to sneak in and out of the Palace undetected, walk right up to the door of my bedroom with a gun in his hand and then open fire on one of my personal maids? Reassure them that that man was then able to escape without any difficulty, with absolutely no consequences for his actions? Everyone in this Palace is supposed to be under _your_ protection, Maxon, what exactly are we reassuring them of?" Her voice broke when she said his name, her stoney tone crumbling into a destroyed pile of pain.

Maxon's face reflected that pain back at her, as he took in her words. She knew he was doing everything in his power to stop K, and it stung him to the bone that, even for a moment, she thought that he wasn't good enough.

"We should clear the room to allow the guards to do their work." Maxon said to America, quickly masking his anguish behind a veneer of professionalism. It was a waste, though, with a dead body on the floor between them.

"I don't understand-" America began, but Maxon cut her off, still painfully wounded.

"For God's sake, America." he snapped. "We need you to get out of our way so that we can go to work. What is there to understand?"

America narrowed her eyes at him, folding her arms tightly over her bulging stomach before turning her gaze to the guard with the camera, who was staring awkwardly at the floor. He couldn't leave because he hadn't been dismissed, but he had absolutely _no_ desire to be in the same room with the King and Queen when they were snapping at each other.

"Sir," America said to get his attention, "You say she was shot in the hallway, but then why, in the midst of drowning in her own blood, would she have staggered back in here?"

"Crawled, your Majesty." The officer corrected, as if that made any difference in the world. "The pattern of the blood on the carpet indicates that she was crawling."

"Well?"

"The most logical conclusion would be that she was trying to get to safety, away from the assailant."

"Rather than wait for the guards to sprint down the hall and see her, possibly manage to save her, she went and hid in my room?" America asked, incredulously. "Esther is... Esther was a very smart girl, I don't believe that for a second."

"America, why does it matter?" Maxon demanded, almost petulantly.

America ignored him, tearing her eyes away from Esther's body and sweeping them over the room.

"This doesn't make sense." she shook her head. "You say the shot was fired in the hall."

"Yes ma'am, that's where the gunpowder residue was found."

"So K never made it into my room."

"We do not believe he would have had time, ma'am, no."

"But look at this mess." America gestured to the fallen items scattered around Esther's body. "Esther was in here tidying up earlier today, not that our rooms are ever messy to begin with. None of these items have any business being all over the floor."

The guard was considering this, his own eyes sweeping over the mess. "She might have been trying to reach something?" he suggested.

"I can't think of what else she would have been doing in here."

The silence around them was thick, heavy with anticipation as three sets of eyes began studying the mess on the floor with renewed interest.

The paintbrushes Esther had been in here cleaning, that she'd used earlier to paint America's skin.

Budget papers about prenatal clinics, scattered with seemingly no importance.

There was a highlighter lying just beyond what would have been Esther's reach, it had been lying atop the budget papers a few hours ago, if America remembered correctly.

Rolph's newspaper, the issue America had asked to keep for another read through that night. Most of it was soaked through with blood, as it was lying right next to Esther.

America blinked. "The paper?" she asked, looking back to Maxon. "Could it have been the paper?"

Maxon came forward, his earlier hurt forgotten for the moment in the midst of this mystery. "It has a lot of letters, maybe she was going to try to leave a message?"

"The budget papers would have been easier to get to, and they're covered with letters." America frowned.

Maxon glanced up at the guard, "You've photographed the body?"

America did not like Esther being referred to as 'the body'.

At the guard's nod, Maxon bent over and carefully lifted Esther's wrist off of the newspaper, removing the blood soaked articles of paper beneath, before gently returning her wrist to the ruined carpet.

The part of the paper that had been closest to her body was completely soaked through and deteriorating.

"If she did leave a message, it's lost in all of this." Maxon said, gesturing to the part that used to be an article about a lost little girl, another victim of Schreave policy in the south.

America's hand was clamped over her mouth, fighting hard against the nausea that the stench was bringing on. Her next breath caught in her throat, but not from repulsion. Instead it was because, as her eyes had flitted over the un-ruined portion of the newspaper, her brain had constructed a shape out of the blood splatters.

"Maxon... does that look like a 'K' to you?" America asked, pointing to the splatter of blood that covered the face of the infamous Jefferson Potter.

Maxon stared at the photograph carefully, uncertainly. "That's not a splatter, that's a smear." he admitted, not wanting to believe it. "Something purposefully smeared the blood into that shape."

Esther's hands were covered in blood, it was impossible to tell for certain by her fingers if it had been her. "Maybe it was Esther?" America posited.

"Maybe." Maxon frowned.

"She might have been trying to get to that marker." America pointed to the highlighter. "That's why the budget papers are all over the floor."

"Or a paintbrush." Maxon said, studying the mess.

"But she couldn't reach any of them in time?" America suggested. "So instead, she used a finger to send us a simple message."

"She thought this was the man who shot her?" Maxon was bewildered by this. America didn't think he'd ever even read Rolph's article.

"She'd know better than we would who shot her, Maxon." America reminded him.

"Who is this man?" he asked, almost rhetorically. He didn't expect her to have an answer.

"He was a Five who lost his home and family to the ravages of the south." America said. She'd practically memorized that article by now, she'd read it so many times. This was the first time Maxon had shown any interest, though. "His wife died in childbirth, his children were killed by men who claimed to be royal guards, right before his eyes, and then their bodies were tossed to burn on the embers of what used to be his home. Apparently, it was common for soldiers to burn down the houses of people suspected of rebel activity who did not submit to search warrants."

Maxon looked between America and the blood-soaked paper in his hand, "Esther drew a 'K' over this man's face in her dying moments, we should investigate and at least figure out what she was trying to communicate."

"Yes, sir." the guard said, coming to attention.

Maxon moved around Esther's body, and out into the hallway where Avery and Aspen stood, waiting.

"Leger, I want this lead thoroughly explored." Maxon said, pinching the newspaper between his thumb and forefinger, handing it to Aspen who accepted it with a pinch, as well. "Let's find out everything we can on the man in that photograph."

"Yes, sir."

"I need to see Silvia about removing that carpet." America told Maxon, her nausea giving way to the beginnings of a dizzy spell.

"Let's get you off of your feet, Love." Maxon said, examining her face with concern. "Silvia will come to you."

Her feet were steady beneath her, but it was getting harder to take in full breaths, and she definitely had tunnel vision as she and Maxon hurried back to Magda's room, where the family was waiting.

With extreme effort to keep herself from vomiting when she opened her mouth, America asked hurriedly, "Where's the bathroom in Mom's room?"

Maxon showed her the way, waving to the family as they passed quickly through the room to let them know that he and America were alright, in spite of the blood on his hands.

"Crown." America managed Maxon helped her to the floor in front of the toilet. Maxon went to work removing the pins from her crown as America finally let go and allowed herself to vomit.

As soon as Maxon got her crown loose, he sat it down on the countertop next to the sink and proceeded to scrub his hands clean. He used hot, steaming water and plenty of hand soap, scrubbing until the red was gone and his skin had turned pink.

A very sleepy Astra poked her head in as he wiped his hands on a hand towel.

"Aunt Ames okay?" Astra asked, worriedly.

"Astra, come back! Give them some space, honey." Kenna's voice called.

"She's alright." Maxon told Kenna, before nodding at Astra. "Aunt Ames is fine. She and the baby were just feeling a little queasy."

"Hm." Astra considered this. She probably didn't know what 'queasy' meant, but took the meaning from context.

"Weren't you asleep, Pumpkin head?" Maxon asked.

"I waked up." Astra shrugged, still studying her aunt and future cousin with concern.

America felt the tension in the pit of her stomach ease, the nausea passing, and she took a deep breath of relief. "This is a lot less comfortable in the third trimester than it was in the first." she complained.

"Can I give you a hand up, Love?" Maxon asked, as America flushed the toilet.

"Yes, please."

As Maxon helped America back to her feet and guided her into her mother's room and down to an armchair James had vacated just for her, Astra took matters into her own hands.

"Astra, baby, where are you going?" Kenna asked.

"One second, Mommy." Astra said, too busy to stop and explain herself. She opened the door that led to the hallway and poked her head left and right. Her eyes fell on Avery. "Um, hi."

From where she sat in the arm chair, America could see Avery's amused smile as he took a knee to be at Astra's level. "Hello, my lady." he said.

"Um, Aunt Ames needs some bubbles, please."

Avery didn't understand, but Officer Weaver's voice offered assistance, "Like the bubbles we brought up when you were sick, my lady?"

Technically, Astra was a Four like her mother and father, and therefore not a 'lady', but there was not a single guard in the entire Palace who cared about that when it came to Astra. She was their little lady, and they all tended to dote on her whenever they got the chance.

"Yes, please, Aunt Ames needs some very cold bubbles." Astra nodded, looking up at the guards around her. Tall, brawny men in uniform with guns on their belts, and she had them wrapped around her little finger.

"Absolutely, my lady, we will tell the maids immediately."

"Okay, good, we need some extra for the baby." Astra reasoned.

"We will make sure to have a whole bottle brought up." Weaver promised.

Astra smiled broadly at this, "Good."

"Will that be all, my lady?" Avery asked.

"Um…" Astra considered the wide world of requests she could make. "I would like a brownie, please."

"No brownie!" Kenna called out to her daughter and the guards.

Astra immediately amended, "No brownie."

"Maybe next time, my lady." Avery chuckled.

"Okay, now I will go and get the fun chair." Astra announced, trying to get around the guards and go down the hall to her own room.

Maxon stepped forward quickly, "Where are you going, Astra?"

"Aunt Ames needs the fun chair for her tummy."

"The rocking chair?" Maxon clarified.

"Yes, I will bring it to her, I know where it is." Astra said, never dreaming of asking permission first.

Maxon sighed and turned to the guard who was in the room with the family. Astra's guard. "Fisher, stay with her."

"Yes, sir." Fisher bowed, before going over and offering Astra his hand, letting her take him down the hall in the opposite direction of the carnage in America's room.

Maxon closed the door once Astra was gone and turned back to the room, "Before she returns, I just want to tell you all what happened. One of America's maids was shot and killed earlier tonight, we think it was the same man who killed Kota. He's gone now, and he won't be getting back in, but short of staying in a safe room overnight, I think we should all stay in here together until morning. That way we'll have a higher concentration of guards watching over us."

There was a heavy silence.

"Whatever you think is best, Maxon." Magda finally said, frowning softly.

Kenna and James shared a grave look between them, a silent conversation clearly harkening back to dozens of past verbal conversations that America and Maxon had not been privy to. May wrapped an arm around Gerad, who looked far too serious for a boy so young.

"We're going to get him this time." America mused, more to herself than to anyone else.

"Really?" Kenna asked, her quiet tone almost angry. America knew it was just because she was scared. "What's so different about this time?"

Before America could react to the sharpness in her sister's tone, Maxon replied, "Esther left us a clue. We've been chasing shadows for so long, it's been impossible to make progress. Esther changed the whole game tonight. I don't think K was counting on her being so strong and so smart."

This time it was Maxon and America who shared the long and silent conversation. Their eyes met and they both knew that the smeared K on the newspaper photograph wasn't much to be pinning such hopes on, but they didn't have anything else to go off of. Even the English spies were having trouble coming up with anything other than dead ends.

"Maxon, maybe I should see Silvia in the next room over so that we can let certain three-year-olds we know get back to sleep?" America suggested.

"That's a good idea." Maxon nodded.

"Would you like to go with me?"

"I'm not letting you out of my sight." he fervently insisted.

"Okay, fine." America acknowledged. "And I think Mary and Paige are waiting to hear from me."

"I hope they haven't heard already, bad news spreads fast in this palace." Maxon grimace.

"Could you have them brought up? Before Silvia."

"Of course." Maxon said. "How are you feeling, Love, how is the nausea?"

"Better now... but these shoes." America looked down at the flat shoes she'd been wearing all night. They were covered in Esther's blood.

Maxon knelt before her and removed them, very aware of how hard it was for her to get around her belly at the moment. "I'll see to it that they're disposed of."

Maxon had her shoes off and hidden behind his back just in time for Astra to reappear with Fisher right behind her.

"Where should I put it, my lady?" Fisher's deep voice asked.

"Um, there." Astra pointed to the middle of the space between Magda's bed and dresser. Fisher sat the chair down as directed, bowed to little Astra, and then resumed his vigil by the window. "Come on, Aunt Ames." Astra took America's hand. "We're going to the chair, it will make you feel better, I promise."

America laughed. Laughed, because Astra was so innocently adorable. Laughed, because nothing in this world could really make her feel better on a night like this. Laughed, because even though she knew it wouldn't really help, part of her believed that little girl unquestioningly.

Astra impatiently tugged, unaware of the effort it took for America to stand up and sit down these days. Maxon made to help, but America waved him off, so instead he busied himself with disposing of the blood soaked shoes before Astra could get a good look at them.

America settled herself in the rocking chair that Amberly's parents had given her when Maxon was born, surprised at how comfortable it was, and then made room for Astra who was climbing into America's lap, whether she made room or not.

"That baby's getting big." Astra said, as she wedged into the crook of America's arm, to the side of the bump.

"Very big." America agreed. "And heavy. I'm ready for it to be born so Uncle Maxon can take a turn carrying it around all day."

Astra giggled at this and settled in a little more. "The baby kicking?" Astra asked, tracing a finger over the bump.

"Not right now, it's past the baby's bedtime." America smiled, pressing a kiss to Astra's copper hair.

"Oh," Astra whispered. "Baby's sleeping?"

"That's right, little bug." America giggled.

"Okay. I'll be quiet." Astra whispered.

In fact, everyone was quiet until Weaver came back with a bottle of seltzer water. He knocked, bowed, and then offered the bottle to Astra, who was lulled into a trance by the rocking in the chair. She was not so lulled that she couldn't accept the bottle, though, and mumble a 'Thank you', before casting her eyes across the room.

"What are you looking for?" America asked.

"Cups."

Magda knew where they were and was happy to bring one over, and to pour the seltzer water in so that Astra didn't make an enormous mess.

"See the bubbles?" Astra asked.

"I see them." America assured her.

"Those will help your tummy feel better."

"Okay." America grinned over at Maxon, who smiled right back at her, though his expression was strained. He was looking at a rocking chair full of the people he absolutely could not live without, and the idea that they were in so much danger, the idea that he couldn't adequately protect them, was haunting him fiercely.

America took a sip of the cold seltzer water, and then another, surprised at how much it really did help settle her. The last time she'd had seltzer water she'd been in her first trimester, battling the crippling morning sickness that had led to her having to work out of her bedroom until Maxon finally intervened and had Dr. Ashlar prescribe something to help. The seltzer water had been of no use back then, so she hadn't expected it to work such wonders now.

"The baby needs some, too." Astra reminded her, so America took another few sips, and then let the girl in her lap have a couple of sips, too.

America held the glass out and Magda took it, freeing America's hand up to smooth Astra's hair, soothingly. "Let's close our eyes and let the bubbles go to work." America said.

"Okay, good idea." Astra pressed a loud kiss to America's cheek and then settled back in. America continued rocking them, finding a pace that soothed them both, and she felt surprised that she could be so comfortable on such a brutal night. Surprised, and a little guilty.

Astra squirmed, taking a moment to settle down, and America absentmindedly started humming to help ease the process. She didn't even notice what she was doing until she peeked an eye open and caught the look on her mother's face. So happy and so sad at the same time, and with no way to tell which emotions caused the tears in her eyes. America then realized that she was humming the bedtime song their father used to sing to them as small children, a lilting little folk song that wouldn't mean much without the memories it brought back.

Soon Kenna was humming it, too. Lightly, because she didn't want to disturb Astra when she was so close to falling asleep again. It didn't take long for Magda and May to join in. Gerad was the only Singer in the room who did not know the song, although his brow was scrunched up like he was familiar with the melody but just couldn't quite place the source.

Astra's breathing was deep and even by the time the last verse had been softly hummed, and everyone in the room looked more relaxed. Maxon had an expression of wonder on his face like he'd just been visited by a choir of angels, rather than having listened to his in-laws hum a few verses of a common folk song.

America took full advantage of Astra's warmth and the soothing scent of her baby shampoo, holding the girl very close as they rocked, leeching as much comfort as she could. She could feel her own heart rate lowering, the adrenaline that had shocked her system when they'd found Esther was wearing off, everything inside was returning to a calm, neutral state.

There was a soft knock on the door, and then Weaver poked his head in with a bow, "Ma'am, your maids are waiting in the room across the hall."

"Thank you." America mumbled, as she felt her stomach knot with anxiety.

"I'll take her." Magda said, softly, as she crossed over and swooped down to give America a kiss on the top of her head. "We're alright, America, you and Maxon do whatever you have to do. We're made of stronger stuff than that monster has ever dreamed of. We're alright." Then, without waiting for America to reply, Magda gently lifted her granddaughter into her arms, freeing America to try and fail to remove herself from the rocking chair. Maxon came over and offered her both of his hands, tugging forcefully to pull her to her feet.

When America was out of the way, Magda lowered herself into the chair and settled Astra in before resuming the slow, steady rocking pace America had set earlier.

"Do you want me to go with you for this one?" Maxon offered, bracing her with his hands firmly on her shoulders.

"No. We need a moment to ourselves." America reluctantly concluded.

Maxon nodded, "Avery will be right outside the door, and I'm right across the hall. Just call out if you need anything, don't even bother trying to toddle up and over." he smiled at this.

"Don't complain about my toddling, I can't help it." America pouted, but she didn't really mind his teasing.

"I'll be there for the Silvia meeting, though." Maxon promised.

"That's fine." America sighed, heavily. Achingly. "At some point, we should find out about the aftermath of that pipe we burst for no reason, down in the kitchens. I'm sure that was quite the mess."

"The staff will take care of it, there's nothing to worry about there."

"Right."

There was nothing else to say, no other way to stall. She had to go next door, now, and tell her maids what happened. Maxon looked as though his heart was breaking for her. Even though he had to come in from the side to get around her bump, he pressed a long, firm kiss to her forehead and then touched the tip of his nose to the tip of hers. "I love you, America Singer Schreave."

"I love you, Maxon Schreave." America replied.

"Go be with your maids. Let us know if you need _anything_. I'll come and get you when Silvia arrives."

America nodded, but leant up for a kiss before she left. It was long, firm, and chaste. It was a promise; I love you, I am here, I will help you, you are not alone. That was the message for both of them.

Mary and Paige were still in their ballgowns, Mary in a dress that seemed to be made of pure wild flowers, beautiful pedals stitched right into the skirt, and Paige as a courtesan at a masquerade, her deep purple feathered mask laid beside her on the sofa. They looked beyond beautiful, and so far from complete. Though she'd only been with them for a handful of months, Esther was already painfully missing.

The room across the hall that they were waiting in appeared to be some kind of abandoned sitting room, all of the furniture, with the exception of the sofa and an arm chair across from it, was covered in white sheets to protect it from dust. The white sheets that had once covered the sofa and arm chair were neatly folded, resting on the floor nearby for when they were done in this ghost room. America wondered if Mary and Paige had taken off the furniture covers, or if someone else had seen to it for them.

At the sound of America entering the room, Mary and Paige looked up, almost hopefully. They both wore tight expressions, aware that something grim had happened. It was hard to tell just how much they knew just by their faces, though.

"You both look beautiful." America said, quietly closing the door behind her. The carpet in this room felt different on her bare feet, like it was older or just ill-used. It wasn't as soft as the carpet across the hall.

"Thank you, your Majesty." Mary and Paige both chirped as they stood to curtsey before America could stop them.

America waved them down and then sat in the empty arm chair, facing them. "What do you know?" she asked, candidly.

The girls exchanged a glance. Mary spoke, "There _was _a water leak in the kitchen, but… the guards were in formation like there had been an attack. Paige and I were summoned to the third floor, but told to come here, instead of your room, your Majesty. We're the only staff who have been permitted onto the third floor since the ball ended. And… Esther isn't here."

The look on America's face must have spoken volumes, because, after a moment, Paige's trembling voice warbled, "No…"

As Paige pressed her face into her hands, lowering her elbows to her knees, Mary did not bother to try to hide her own heartbreak. "What happened?" she gasped.

"K. One gunshot. Esther was in my room, cleaning up the paintbrushes." America looked disconsolately at the beautiful golden designs still covering her skin.

Mary's anguish was silent, shocked, much like America's had been. Paige, however, openly sobbed.

It was the first open sob of the night, and it had America biting back tears of her own. America stared hard at the ceiling, working to keep the water in her eyes, where it belonged. "I'm so sorry." she said.

"Why?" Mary asked, almost pleading. "You have nothing to be sorry for."

"He was coming after me."

"Unless you pulled the trigger, ma'am, it is _not _your fault." Mary insisted.

"You're under my protection." America said, fiercely. "That's supposed to mean something."

"That has always meant something!" Mary countered. "I have never forgotten the night you brought us with you into the safe room, for the King, the Queen, the Prince, and everyone to see. The way you cradled Lucy until her shaking stopped, and defended us to the other Selected… We _are_ under your protection, and that means a great deal."

America swallowed the lump in her throat and nodded, "I appreciate that. But maids in households of Twos and Threes don't have nearly this mortality rate."

"If Tessa Tamble herself asked me to join her household staff, I would refuse." Mary insisted.

"That's true." Paige added, her voice thick but shaky.

"Other people might think our job is to bring you tea and brush your hair, but we know better." Mary said. "We serve _you_, we're loyal to _you_. You happen to be the Queen, but far more importantly to us, you're America Singer Schreave, and you make us proud every single day."

America pressed her lips hard together to keep them from trembling. Finally she managed, "I do?"

"Yes, you do. And that's how Esther felt, too." Mary lost some of her vigor at this, seeming to wilt at the thought of having lost Esther.

"We're going to catch him." America promised.

Unlike everyone else in the world, when America said this to Mary and Paige, they didn't even blink. "Of course you are." Mary said, simply. Nobody believed in America more than her maids. America didn't even believe in herself as much as they believed in her.

"I'm going to personally arrange Esther's funeral, I'm going to find some place beautiful to bury her. Her stone isn't going to say 'Esther Pal, Six' on it, either, it's going to say 'Esther Fields' and something nice about her."

"She'd have loved that." Mary assured her.

"Did she ever mention family to either of you?" America asked.

Paige nodded, "She didn't have any family. Her parents died when she was young, she worked odd jobs to support herself. She was at a holiday party as a contractor, serving drinks to guests of a family of Twos. That's how she got noticed, and given a job in their household. And that's where the Palace found her."

This news seemed to act like a vise on America's chest, threatening to collapse her. "But… it doesn't seem like enough. It can't just be us at her funeral, that's not enough for her—" America's voice broke.

"Some of the other staff will come." Mary insisted.

Paige added, "Esther wouldn't have liked anything too extravagant."

"I'm going to miss her." America realized, tears threatening to overwhelm her.

"We all will." Paige agreed.

Mary placed her left hand on America's right and squeezed, "That's the way it's supposed to be. We're not supposed to _not _miss the people we've lost."

America nodded, gulping in cool breaths of air when she could manage them until finally, the rises and falls of her chest returned to normal. That's when a golden glint caught her eye.

She hadn't noticed at first, because it blended in so well with the golden paint on her skin. Mary was wearing a ring. A small, plain golden band on her lefthand ring finger.

"Mary what is that?" America asked, gasping.

Mary withdrew her hand immediately and blushed, "Oh, well, um… I was—"

America looked over at Paige, whose face was covered in runny mascara, but who had the most knowing smile on her face.

"Mary?" America asked again.

"It's just a promise. I mean, it's more than just a promise, but not until you and the King give us your blessing."

"Who? Mary, what's going on?"

"Pending your blessing, um… Earlier tonight, Justin asked me to marry him."

America blinked. "Justin? Maxon's Justin? Justin, Maxon's butler, Justin?"

"…Yes."

"The Head of the King's household is marrying the Head of the Queen's household?" America clarified.

"If you give your—"

"Mary, of _course_ you have our blessing!" America laughed. "I didn't… how did I not even know you've been seeing each other?"

Paige laughed weakly, "They didn't want either of you to know, not until they were really serious. Their jobs were too important to put at risk by a failed attempt at romance. They made us all swear not to mention anything, but they've basically spent every day off that they've had over the last _year_ together."

America heaved herself out of the chair and over to the sofa, throwing her arms around Mary as she sat back down, "I'm so happy for you!"

It took Mary a moment to collect herself enough to reply, "Thank you. I'm happy, too."

America leant back and pressed her hands to Mary's cheeks, grinning wildly, "I'm invited to the wedding, right?"

"Of course you are! I was hoping you'd be my matron of honor."

"Nothing would make me happier." America grinned. "We're going to have so much fun planning your wedding, Mary! Anything you want, you're going to have."

Mary blushed, "I really liked Lucy's wedding, it was nice and—"

"Small?" America laughed.

"Well… yes." Mary giggled.

"Don't worry, if small is what you want, small is what you'll get." America pressed a kiss to Mary's temple. "Just tell me, do you want to get married before or after I have this baby?"

"Oh,_ after_." Mary said, emphatically. "Definitely after. We were thinking sometime in the spring, maybe a few weeks before your Palace Egg Roll? That way we'll be back from our honeymoon in time to help."

"Don't worry about the Palace schedule, Mary." America insisted.

"We want to be here for that, though." Mary said. "We had so much fun last year. We _like _worrying about the Palace schedule, especially in the spring when everything is outdoors and beautiful. And anyway, I'm not missing that baby's first major Palace event, not for the world. Unless you're going to tell me that you're bringing the baby out for New Years—"

"No." America shook her head, cringing at the thought. "The plan is still to keep the baby at home, and to tightly control media access until the baby is three months old."

"Well, there we have it, then." Mary grinned. "Spring isn't so far away, really, now that November's here."

She was right. Once midnight came and went, November would officially be here. Her baby was going to be born _next month_.

America took a deep, steadying breath as she studied her round stomach. Mary seemed to read her mind and she rubbed America's back soothingly. "We have wonderful things to come, your Majesty. The sun is going to rise, you'll see. All we need is time."

America studied Mary's beautiful, sincere face for a moment, "I hope you're right. It would be so wonderful if you were right."

There was a knock on the door and then Maxon poked his head in, immediately gesturing that Mary and Paige should keep their seats. "Love? Silvia is ready for you."

"Good. I think we're done in here for now." America turned to her maids. "I want you both to get a good night's sleep and take tomorrow off. I'll be keeping my family close, they'll help me if I need a dress zipped up or an extra hand with something."

"Yes, your Majesty." the girls chanted, before standing.

"Oh, and Mary?" America called. Mary paused and looked back, "In the morning, you need to call Lucy and tell her. She's going to be beside herself."

Mary grinned. "I will."

"Beside herself for what?" Maxon asked, curious at the unexplained happiness on their faces.

America grinned, "It would appear that my maid and your butler are getting married."

Maxon blinked before his face broke into a wide, enthusiastic smile, "Justin?"

Mary nodded, blushing and grinning, showing Maxon the golden band on her finger.

Maxon ran a hand through his hair, "How did we not know that was happening, Ames?"

America shrugged, but her answer was tinged with somberness. "Apparently, we really don't know what's going on in our own palace."

Rather than let the sadness back into the room, Maxon hugged Mary quickly and congratulated her, complimented both maids on their dresses, then he held the door open for the girls to slip through.

Silvia stepped in the moment they were gone, her beautiful pink gown spreading as she curtsied. It was the first time America could remember seeing Silvia's hair in a chignon, and it was marvelous. America didn't think Silvia had gone for a particular costume, instead choosing to dress elegantly and beautifully as always.

"You know what's happened?" America asked Silvia, as she rose from the curtsey and came over to occupy the empty arm chair across from America. She glanced at Maxon before sitting, according to protocol he was supposed to sit first, but he didn't look to be in any hurry. He gestured for her to be seated, and she did so immediately.

"I know." Silvia nodded. "Gavril informed me about your maid, about what happened in your room. I'm so sorry."

"I appreciate that." America said, clearing her throat. Maxon's hand came to rest on her shoulder, giving it a light squeeze, and she lifted her hand across her body to rest atop his. "I want all of the carpet in my room torn out. In fact, the carpet in Maxon's room and the nursery should go, too."

"Yes, ma'am."

"I'll look through samples with you tomorrow? We'll pick something new for our rooms. Something very different."

"Very good, ma'am."

"I think the only way I'll be able to continue living in that room, after seeing Esther's body lying on the floor like that, is if it's unrecognizable. I want all new furniture, in an all new configuration. If someone wants to come in and tear down or put up a wall or two, that would be fine."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Donate, sell, or move the old furniture, I don't care. I just can't look at it anymore."

"I understand."

"I want the door moved. That can't be the door to my room anymore, that's where Esther was shot."

"Yes, ma'am."

"I need this done, quickly. As quickly as possible. I need to be settled in with plenty of time before the baby is born."

"We'll get to work on it tomorrow, talking with contractors and architects. You'll be their top priority, until the work is finished. It won't take long, ma'am. I'll push them to have teams working for you day and night, I shouldn't think it would take more than a week or a week and a half, ma'am, but you'll be displaced during that time."

Maxon was the one to reply, "That won't be a problem. While we're hunting down the maniac who did this, I'd just as soon move the family to a different wing of the Palace, anyway. K doesn't have his spies on the inside anymore, he won't know where to find us if we move."

"Did you have some place in mind, Maxon?" America asked, dropping her hand to her lap as she peeked up at him.

"The east wing of the first floor has a few old bedrooms in it, the Illéa's used them to house visiting dignitaries back before the second floor was fully converted into bedrooms. Those would be my first choice. There aren't any secret passageways over there, the Illéa's didn't trust their visitors enough to allow them secret passageways. It will be a very easy area for the guards to secure, and our rooms will be closer together than they are on the third floor. We'll put Astra right next door to us, she won't be more than twenty feet away." Maxon said, more for his own peace of mind than America's.

"Fine." America nodded. "That sounds good." She turned to Silvia. "Let the staff know that we'll be making that change so that they'll be prepared for the move on Monday."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Maxon, we need to talk with our family about that, make sure they understand."

"They'll be fine, Ames. You heard your mother." Maxon smiled bracingly.

That was certainly true, Magda had been unequivocal on that point.

America nodded, "I need to cancel my public schedule for the next week."

"Of course." Silvia nodded.

"I'll see you tomorrow, after lunch?" America asked.

Silvia knew she was being dismissed. She stood and curtseyed. "After lunch, I'll be in your office." she agreed. "And if there's anything else… _anything _at all that you need, please let me know." her tone was so sincere. She really did want to help. America was touched by the sentiment.

"I will." America reassured her. "Thank you."

Silvia rose from her curtsey and quickly exited the room.

Maxon heaved a deep breath, when they were alone. "What a night."

"I hate nights like this." America frowned, tugging his hand to indicate that he should join her on the couch.

"We need to get out of our party clothes." Maxon said, sitting next to her while taking his crown off and tossing it aside like it was a toy. "If they have news about K tonight, we'll need to be the King and Queen when we receive it, not the moon and sun."

"I agree." America said, lacing her left hand through his, studying their wedding rings carefully.

"Ames?"

"Hm?"

"Tell me what you're thinking. You're very quiet over there, and your face is very still. I need some help."

America lifted her blue eyes to his brown and opened her mouth to respond. She closed it, unable to find the words, then tried again. "I… well, um, I can't… the body paint, I don't…"

"It's wonderfully photographed, Ames, the whole world is going to see it." Maxon's tone was pure sympathy. "It's okay to wash it off."

"It's the last thing she ever painted." America choked out as her tears finally began to fall. "It's so beautiful—"

"I know. I know." Maxon intoned, wrapping her up in his arms. "It's not fair."

"Why is he doing this, Maxon?" America wept. "Why _Esther_?"

He didn't bother telling her not to look for a reason. He just held her tight to his body and let her cry for as long as she needed to. He didn't try to shush her or tell her that everything was going to be 'okay', because it wasn't going to be 'okay' for Esther. Esther was dead. Nothing about that was ever going to be 'okay'. He occasionally reminded her to breathe, and that he was right there with her, but other than that, he kept her close and let her cry.

After what felt like a very long time America's breathing began to steady, her tears slowing down. She'd cried herself out.

"What kind of sister am I? I didn't shed a single tear when Kota died." America lamented, coldly.

Maxon shook his head. "Your relationship with Kota was a lot more complicated than your relationship with Esther, you can't compare the two. And you can't make yourself express your feelings in a certain way. You don't get to control that." he advised, and then he pressed a long kiss to her forehead. "Let's get you cleaned up. We'll nap until we hear news from the guards."

"I just can't, Maxon." America shook her head, looking sadly at the paint on her arms and the flat top of her chest, "I can't wash it off."

Maxon nodded, "I can do it. Can you let me do it?"

America blinked up at him, surprised, but she nodded, slowly.

"Alright then." Maxon stood, and slowly helped her to her feet. "Let's go get you cleaned up."

He kept his arm tight around her lower back, guiding her into Magda's room. When they walked in, they found that Astra was still the only one sleeping, still being rocked in her grandmother's arms. "May," Maxon said, "Will you have one of the guards fetch clothes for the Ames and me? She and I are going to get cleaned up, and we'll need something appropriate to wear when Aspen is ready for us."

"Of course." May stood from her place next to Gerad.

"And pajamas for everyone, that way you can all get comfortable and Ames and I might get the chance to sleep a little before we're called in."

"Right." May hurried out into the hall to pass on Maxon's orders, but America didn't hear what happened next because she was being swept into the bathroom by Maxon's strong arms.

Maxon turned on the tap, the shower and bath were a single unit in this bathroom, and then he adjusted the water to the right temperature with his arm. When he was satisfied that he wasn't going to burn her, he removed his clothes right down to his boxers. "Come here, Love." he said, his tone gentle.

"No, I want to stare at your chest some more." America joked weakly, but she went where she was bid.

Maxon helped her out of the golden gown, carefully hanging it over the towel rack to be dealt with in the morning. He took a moment to press a long kiss to her belly, and then he gestured to the side of the tub. "Sit here, feet in."

She obeyed, grateful not to have anything to think about. Having Maxon completely take over for a few minutes was the most soothing thing in the world, like every single little weight was temporarily off of her shoulders.

"The water feels good." She said, as he helped her down onto the flat edge of the tub and her feet began to soak.

Maxon dropped some soap and a little bit of bath oil into the water, the aroma filling the room almost instantly. She breathed it in with a sigh, her bare stomach expanding and contracting as she did so.

Maxon fetched a loofa and then pressed a kiss to her shoulder, joining her on the ledge, setting his own feet in the tub. "I don't think I've seen that bra before, my love."

"No." America studied the creamy, lacy thing. "It's new." she agreed. "My other ones are too small, again."

"Really?" Maxon automatically licked his lips at the thought.

"Yeah. I guess my milk is coming in." America shrugged.

Maxon grinned, "You're so amazing, do you know that?"

"Am I?"

Maxon laughed, "You say that like it's nothing, 'Oh, I guess my milk is coming in'," he mocked her tone. "It's the most amazing thing in the world! You're making an entirely new human in your body, using nothing but your own natural power. Not only that, but you're going to feed that baby from your own body once it's born. I suppose it's all in a day's work for you, but I'm thoroughly impressed."

America smiled, "Good. Be impressed by me. This whole pregnancy thing is difficult and uncomfortable and exhausting, the least you can do is be impressed by me." She teased.

"Can you put your foot in my lap without toppling over?" Maxon asked, semi-seriously.

America found that if she braced one hand on the tub, she could. Her ankle rested comfortably on his knee as he scrubbed her leg with the loofa, and then massaged her foot. After a minute, he switched to her other leg and foot.

He had her turn so that he could massage her neck, shoulders, and back for a few minutes, and then it was time to wash away the paint.

"Do you want to close your eyes, Ames?"

"No, I want to see every last second of it." America realized as she said the words.

"Okay." Maxon nodded. "Deep breath."

They both took a moment to admire the amazing paintings one more time, and then Maxon, tenderly but firmly, began scrubbing off the designs.

The sparkling golden swirls started streaming down the moment the hot water touched her skin. It struck America how much they looked like sunny teardrops as they dripped into the water. She thought back to the way the paintbrushes had tickled as Esther painted her skin. How cold the paint had been when it was going on, how hot it was falling off. The stickiness when the paint had first dried. The stickiness of Esther's blood on that newspaper.

If things had been even a little different tonight, would Esther still be alive?

If a guard had been in a slightly better position, if Esther had been in a slightly different place. If she'd cleaned those brushes ten minutes earlier, she'd be alive, wouldn't she? She'd be helping wash this paint off, already dreaming of the next time they'd use this technique for a Palace event.

America let her head fall heavily on Maxon's shoulder, but he did not stop scrubbing. He was thorough, working over every inch of skin until the last sparkle, the last golden fleck was gone. Her skin was pink underneath from the heat and the rubbing, but it was smooth thanks to the oil in the water. Maxon kissed every inch of it, from her wrist to her shoulder, across to her other shoulder and down to her other wrist.

"Are you alright?" He asked, tossing the loofa into the water without a second thought.

"No. Of course not." America replied. "But thank you. That was good."

"It was okay?" he checked.

America nodded. "It was _good_."

Maxon accepted this, accepted that his work was better than 'okay', and then drained the water. "I need to wash this gunk out of my hair." he said. "And you probably feel the same way about yours."

America ran a hand through Maxon's hair, wrinkling her nose as his usually soft, golden locks crinkled at her touch. "Yes, let's fix that immediately. I need my tousle-haired king back." she agreed.

They stood together under the hot shower for a very long time. Maxon washed America's hair first, because it would take the longest. He removed each pin, one by one, and let the strawberry locks fall down in spirals past her shoulders, and he spent plenty of time massaging the shampoo and then the conditioner into her scalp. She even let him wash her face, which he found hilarious, as the bright blue swirls of eye makeup began dripping away and his makeup-free Ames appeared from behind the 'Queen' facade she'd been wearing all night.

It was always one of his favorite things, when she ran her hand through his hair, so she made sure to take her time with it, and he even allowed her to use a bit of conditioner on him since it would mean an extra head massage.

Once they were both rinsed and back to normal, they stayed under the jet of hot, cleansing water, wrapped up in each other's arms, America's head tucked under Maxon's chin, her belly pressed hard against his taught abdomen.

After a minute of this perfectly still, completely nourishing embrace, America grinned, "I can't believe you haven't tried to put the moves on me yet."

Maxon laughed, "Love, we are standing in your mother's bathroom. I do have _some _standards."

"Technically, this is _our _bathroom. I mean, it's _our _Palace."

"But… the rosebuds, Ames." Maxon complained. It was true. The shower curtain, the hand towels, the washrags, and the decorative accents were all pink rosebuds, chosen by Magda, herself. It was a very _matronly _bathroom.

"Well, I'm still impressed." America leant up and pecked him on the lips. "Let's see if we have time to get some sleep before there's news."

"Right." Maxon turned off the water and began toweling himself off as America strained the extra water out of her hair.

"And thank you… for not trying make me sleep instead of being at the meeting, later." America said.

Maxon studied her plain, wet face before kissing a droplet of water off of the tip of her nose. "I want you there. You deserve to be there. Esther deserves to have you be there. I know you're exhausted, and I want you off your feet as much as possible, beginning immediately, but… this is something we should do together."

"I agree." America smiled bracingly, and then she took the rosebud accented towel from him and dried his hair with it. "There. Back to normal." she smiled, tousling it up even more with her hand.

He left that towel for her to dry off with and grabbed a different, matching one to wrap around his waist. Once it was securely in place, he poked his head out and asked if the clothes had been delivered yet.

Apparently, James was the one to hand Maxon the nightclothes, because as she finished drying herself off, America heard a wolf-whistle and James' voice saying, "Holy smokes, America. Have you seen this man's muscles? I think I'm going to try to steal Maxon!"

And then a little voice in the other room cried out in an affronted tone, "No, Daddy, do _not _steal Mackin!"

America laughed. Really laughed. This time it wasn't bitter or sad, this time it was truly joyous.

"You're awake again?" Maxon asked, peeking out at Astra.

"Yes, I in my nightgown, see?" Astra's voice explained. "Daddy, do _not _steal Mackin!"

"Alright, baby girl, I won't steal Maxon."

"Good."

"Crawl in bed with Mommy, okay?" James said.

"Gramma, do _not _let Daddy steal Mackin when I sleeping." Astra insisted.

Magda's laughing voice replied, "I promise, Angel. I will keep a close eye on your daddy and makes sure nothing happens."

"Sir, do _not _let my daddy steal my Mackin." Astra said to someone, and then America remembered that Officer Fisher was in the room with them.

Fisher's deep, and deeply amused voice replied, "Yes, my lady."

"Okay." Astra said. "Good night. Daddy, you be in _big _trouble if you steal Mackin, do _not _steal him."

"I promise, sweetheart, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you, I was only joking." James promised.

America heard Astra mutter something like 'Not funny', as Maxon closed the bathroom door, almost in tears at having laughed so hard.

"I need to tell her about that when she's older." Maxon chuckled, handing America a clean pair of underwear and a very soft, comfy pair of third trimester maternity pajamas.

"Yeah, that might transcend into family legend." America agreed, as she messily knotted her wet hair on top of her head and slid into the clothes.

Maxon and America shared one more kiss and then America followed Maxon into Magda's bedroom.

Kenna, Astra, May, and Magda were all curled up on the bed in their pajamas, but none of them were asleep yet. James lounged on the sofa and Gerad sat in an arm chair.

"Look!" Magda grinned. "It's your sister, instead of that odd 'Queen' woman we keep seeing around the Palace.

America blushed, realizing that it had been a while since she'd had a day to herself when she did not have to wear makeup, or project some kind of appearance for the sake of the monarchy. It probably _had _been a long time since her family had seen her this unaffected.

"And, without her makeup on, we can see her freckles even _more _clearly." Maxon boasted, before pressing a kiss to each of her cheekbones. He really was obsessed with those freckles, she lamented, as he released her and went to open the door to the adjoining room where there was another bed, sofa, and chair. "Where do you want to sleep, Ames?"

America looked between Maxon and the pile of Singer women in the bed. Maxon seemed to perfectly read the longing expression in her eyes as she looked between her mother, her sisters, and her niece. "That's fine. We men will take this room."

"Are you sure?" America asked.

"We'll only have a few hours to sleep, honestly. Nap with your mother and sisters." he insisted.

"Okay." America pressed a kiss to his lips. Then she rounded on James, "No stealing my husband, James."

James cast an affronted look at her enormous belly, "Please. I'm no home-wrecker."

America laughed and accepted the hug James offered as he, Gerad, and Maxon saw themselves into the next room. They left the door open between them, however, not wanting to be so thoroughly separated on a night like this.

America looked at her mother's enormous extra-large king sized bed and rubbed a hand over her stomach, worriedly. "Is there room for two more in there?"

"Oh, America." Magda sighed, looking as if her heart was breaking for her daughter. "There will _always_ be room for you and your babies with us."

America tucked herself and her stomach between Magda and Kenna, and Astra tucked in between Kenna and May. It was a tight squeeze, but not an uncomfortable one. In fact, it was incredibly soothing for all of them.

America had almost drifted off when she felt a familiar wiggling in her stomach and sighed, whispering, "No…" as she began stroking her belly.

"What is it?" Magda asked, worried.

"The baby is waking up."

Kenna snorted, "Of course, just when it's time for you to go to sleep. I remember those days."

"Sometimes I can lull it back to sleep, if I rub it the right way." America said, gently massaging her stomach.

"Astra wasn't like that, she didn't care how hard I pleaded with her." Kenna said, before pressing a firm kiss to Astra's hair.

"Baby waking up?" Astra asked.

"Yep." America sighed.

"It is _way _past that baby's bedtime." Astra remarked.

"I know it. I'm going to try to rub my belly, the baby thinks that feels like a massage. We'll see if it puts the baby back to sleep."

"Mmkay." Astra yawned, snuggling against May's shoulder.

America's brow furrowed as she focused intently on trying to get the baby to sleep again, in fact, she was so focused that it almost startled her when Kenna's hand joined hers, and then Magda's, and then, from far away, the tips of May's fingers. America relaxed, setting her own hand down and leaning her head onto Kenna's shoulder. Kenna pressed a kiss to the top of America's head and continued with the massage.

The baby squirmed a little, seeming to be surprised by the amount of stimulation it was receiving, but after a few moments it settled in, kicked once or twice (right against May's hand, which made her laugh), and then went still.

"I think it worked." America whispered. She didn't think speaking at a normal volume would really wake the baby up, but whispering still seemed like the right thing to do, anyway.

Magda chuckled, "Good. Get a little rest, America."

America must have taken these words to heart, because that was the last thing she remembered before falling asleep, hard.

There was no way to tell how much time had passed, when she heard Maxon's voice coming from just over her face.

"Wake up, Love." he murmured. Kenna stretched, clearly she'd been awoken by Maxon's words, too. The space in bed where Magda had been was empty, except where Maxon sat.

"What's happening?" America asked, still unable to pry open her heavy eyes.

"Aspen has something for us to look at, it's about that clue Esther left us."

"Alright. Okay." America yawned and stretched, her back cracking under the pressure of her heavy stomach. After a few seconds, she heaved herself to be sitting up. A few long blinks and deep breaths more, and she held her hands up for Maxon to take. He slipped his large, warm hands over her small, cool ones, massaged her palms with his thumbs, and then pulled her to her feet.

Once she was up, she noticed Magda standing nearby, waiting to return to bed. "Are you alright, America?" Magda asked.

"I'm…" America struggled, then cast a look over her sisters and Astra. "I'll be fine. And the baby is fine."

Maxon and Magda both completely accepted this answer. "You have a dress and some tights waiting in the bathroom." Maxon said. It was then that she noticed that he was already in his fresh suit and tie.

"Shoes?" America asked.

"By the bench in the hall. I'll help you into them." he replied.

It was strange that America felt so much more vulnerable without makeup on. When she'd been a Five in Carolina, she'd never cared about makeup, saving it for only the most special of occasions. But perhaps her mother had been right, perhaps America really did put on some kind of a mask to become the Queen everyday. Without that makeup on, it wasn't the Queen going to find out about the man who murdered her brother and her maid, it was just America. Just plain, normal America.

This was silly, her makeup did _not _give her her strength. But, it did give her a barrier between her professional self and her personal self. Something she did not have, as she emerged from the bathroom in her black dress and tights, and tiptoed out into the hall to meet Maxon and Avery. Some of the guards that had been standing in the hall that night had been rotated so that they could sleep, but Avery was still there. He'd see them to the meeting and then take his leave, as well.

Maxon offered America an arm as she slipped into her shoes, one wobbly foot at a time, and then let her keep that arm as they walked down to security room C.

America had never been in this room before. It was, by far, the smallest of the security rooms. This was a purposeful choice, because Aspen and Stavros were the only ones inside.

They both bowed, "Good morning, your Majesties." they said as one, before straightening up.

America glanced down at Maxon's watch. It was just after 4:00 in the morning.

"Well?" Maxon asked.

"We found a more recent photograph of the man in the article, Jefferson Potter." Aspen said. "He's been somewhat difficult to track for the last ten years, he goes by a few different aliases, but he's still very much alive."

"Let's see it." Maxon said, nodding to the middle of the table. America and Maxon both came around to stand between Stavros and Aspen, as Aspen lowered the headshot onto the table for them to study.

"What do you think? Does he look familiar?" Aspen asked, looking between Maxon and America for a flicker of recognition.

He wasn't expecting the look of pure horror on both of their faces.

"_That__'__s _Jefferson Potter?" America asked, her blood racing through her veins, as cold as ice.

"Yes, ma'am." Stavros answered, concerned by her tone. "Is he familiar to either of you?"

Maxon nodded, slowly, and his voice came out sounding fragile and dry. "It's hard to forget the face of the man who almost shot me to death."


	47. Chapter 47

For the third time in the same night, America gasped awake and found herself crying. Not moments before, she'd been looking into the haunting, twisted face of the man who'd shot Maxon, the man who'd been aiming to kill her just because of the agony that act would cause Maxon in his final moments, but whose attempt to murder her was foiled when Maxon launched himself in front of the bullet.

She'd seen that face three times that night, in her dreams. She'd seen Maxon shot three times, and stood by utterly helpless, over and over. She still hadn't really merged that face, that man, with the idea of K yet, but it was only a matter of time, and then she'd start having dreams about that man killing Kota, and killing Esther.

The baby kicked her, hard, and she winced as she worked to sit up.

"Again?" Maxon's sleep-roughened voice asked.

"I'm sorry, I don't mean to." America frowned.

"I'm _not_ angry, Love." Maxon's eyes flew open to look up at her.

"I still feel badly about this. There has to be some other room I can sleep in so that I don't disturb you-"

It was the family's second night sleeping in their temporary, first floor rooms, and that was probably contributing to some of America's discomfort, too. She found it unexpectedly unsettling to be away from her third floor sanctuary. She hadn't realized how much constant anxiety would be caused by her being away from her nest, in her highly pregnant state.

"So, in your mind, you think I should send you away rather than comfort you when you've had nightmares?" Maxon clarified, equal parts amused and annoyed.

"You have to sleep-"

"You have to sleep more." he insisted. "You're sleeping for two."

"You're the King."

"You're the Queen, and the expectant mother of the future King or Queen." he parried.

"We're not having this discussion again." America shook her head, moving to get up.

"Come here." Maxon insisted, opening his arms. He thought she was running away from him.

"The baby kicked my bladder." she clarified. "I really need to take care of that, first."

Maxon's smirk was totally amused as he watched her waddle into the bathroom, "My little baby." he mused, as she closed the door to afford herself some privacy. She could still hear the laughter in his tone through the door as he said, "My own little baby kicked you in the bladder and now you're peeing."

America rolled her eyes, "Why do you say that like it's a miracle?"

"It _is_ a miracle!" Maxon insisted, with a laugh. "I've never even met my child, I haven't held him or her, cradled him or her to my chest, but already my baby is having a very visible impact on the outside world."

"Not the outside world." America winced, as the baby kicked her again, this time crashing into one of her ribs. "Just me."

"Oh, Ames, you _are_ my outside world." Maxon said. In any other context, this might have been romantic, but given the circumstances, America just flushed the toilet, washed her hands, and reappeared in the bedroom with a pout.

"Help me." she pleaded, glancing down to her bouncing stomach.

Maxon opened his arms wide again, and she toddled over and, with great difficulty, scooted across the bed to accept his embrace. When she was finally comfortably positioned in the crook of his arm, he placed a hand on her stomach and began talking softly to the baby.

This had the opposite of the desired effect. The baby still liked to dance and squirm excitedly whenever it heard Maxon approaching, even though space was getting very tight in there.

America groaned unhappily, "Not helping."

"Sorry." Maxon whispered. "I'll save my daddy/baby conversations for daylight hours."

"Thank you."

"Let me try something else." Maxon said, lifting her shirt and lowering his lips to her bare belly, pressing three firm kisses in a row to the place they were pretty sure the baby's head was, and then pinching his lips together against her skin. He started humming a lullaby, the vibrations tickling America's skin in a pleasant way. The baby seemed to feel the buzzing, too, as well as hear the humming, because it wiggled in response, punching out but unable to hit the source of the noise because there wasn't enough room in America's belly for it to stretch an arm out in front of its face.

Suddenly, it didn't matter how tired America was, or how poorly she'd been sleeping the last few nights, she couldn't stop her smile as the baby so clearly responded to Maxon's lullaby.

"I think it likes that, Max." America grinned.

Maxon's lips smiled against her skin, but he didn't stop until the song was over. Then he traced gentle circle patterns against her stomach, and the baby finally fell still.

"I can't tell if the baby's sleeping or just in a trance." America ran a hand through Maxon's hair, appreciatively.

"I can't wait until I can hold it in my arms." Maxon whispered, not wanting to stir up any trouble with his speaking voice. "See its little eyes blinking curiously up at me."

"Brown eyes." America grinned.

"Blue." He countered.

"With your mother's chestnut hair?"

"Or your wild red hair."

"Blue eyes and red hair? You're scheming for a miniature me." America accused.

"Guilty as charged." Maxon chuckled, pushing himself up until his lips were close enough to capture hers. "Let's try for a few more hours of sleep before breakfast." he suggested in a whisper.

America swallowed heavily, knowing that a few more hours was more than enough time for her to have the nightmare again. For her to watch that twisted grin on that maniacal face, for her to watch Maxon leap in front of her and take the bullet that should have killed her. To see the look on his face as he falls to the ground, the pain marring his beautiful features as he struggles to survive long enough to tell her that he loves her one last time.

"No." America said, simply.

"What on earth do you mean, no?" Maxon asked, forgetting to keep his voice to a whisper. The baby was lenient, however, and remained still.

"I can't. I can't have that flashback again." America cringed.

"_If_ you have that flashback again, I'll be right here—"

"It's not 'if', Maxon, every time I close my eyes, I'm watching you get shot again. Not through the hazy lens of a dream, and not with the warped perspective time has given me… I'm _there_. Everything about it is sharp and clear, and each one of my senses is thoroughly engaged. I've had some intense dreams in my pregnancy, but nothing has ever come close to these nightmares. Imagine if you had to relive the night I was shot, with perfect clarity, completely there, three times in one night. Wouldn't that be enough?"

"More than enough." Maxon nodded, rolling onto his side so that his profile matched hers. They were perfect mirrors of one another, lying in the enormous bed, lit only by the light filtering in from the hallway. "But, Love, the baby—"

"I know. I need to rest for the baby. But don't you think the stress hormones it gets doused with every time I dream are worse for it than my being a little tired?" America asked, completely understating the level of her exhaustion.

This thought plagued Maxon, his whole body seemed to buckle under the weight of it. "You are _safe,_ America."

"I know that. I don't think this is happening because I feel unsafe. I think it's just… seeing his face again. In that photograph…"

"We're going to catch him." Maxon swore.

"I don't know if that would stop the nightmares…" America said. "They're not about what _might_ happen, they're about what _did_."

Maxon studied her closely, worrying over her, and then said, "Can you rest your head on my chest comfortably?" He rolled onto his back so that she could try.

It took some effort, but America curled under his arm and rested her head on his chest, slinging a leg over one of his to help distribute her weight, and then she sighed a little as she settled in. "This is nice."

Maxon smiled, feeling her belly pressed against his hipbone. "It's been a few weeks since we managed this position." he stroked her hair, absentmindedly.

"I've missed it."

"I want you to _please_, try one more time. Fall asleep listening to my heartbeat, and if the nightmare happens again, I won't bother you about waking up. We'll go to Dr. Ashlar in the morning and seek help, either way."

America considered it for a moment, listening to the steady thumping beneath her ear, relishing in the warmth of his skin against hers despite the chilly November air that somehow worked its way into their temporary room. Was it worth having to watch him die again, just to give him some peace of mind? Maybe he was right, maybe this proximity to him would help.

"Alright. I'll try." America agreed.

"Thank you, Love. The baby thanks you, too."

America allowed herself a heavy sigh, and drew all the comfort she could possibly draw from him. Then she closed her eyes, willed her breathing to match his, and drifted off to an uneasy sleep.

Maxon's pulse under her ear seeped into her subconscious and became the rhythm at which his blood poured out of his body in spurts as he struggled to form his final words to her. It was somehow even worse than before.

* * *

America drained three cups of tea the next morning, having been given a gentle sleep-aid by a very concerned Dr. Ashlar, as well as having gained the good doctor's permission to consume lightly caffeinated beverages now that she was well into her third trimester. It appeared that the baby was now developed enough to be resistant to some of the more negative side-effects of caffeine. The small, gentle dose of caffeine in each cup of tea would hardly have been enough to combat her third-trimester exhaustion, even without the nightmares, but it was better than nothing. Or so she told herself, as she drained her cup again.

Maxon knocked gently on the door that separated their offices and then appeared, his expression already full of concern. "Are you ready for the security meeting, my love?"

"I am." America stood unsteadily and brushed the skirt of her dress over her enormous bump, then she closed the files she'd been perusing half-heartedly before Maxon's appearance.

Esther's funeral had been the day before, but Silvia was already sending a handful of applications for replacements through to America's desk. It really wasn't fair to Paige and Mary for America not to find a replacement, just because it felt 'too soon'. It had been one thing when all they'd had to look after was America, and occasionally assist Maxon. Once the baby was born, the third floor was going to become a barely controlled explosion of tiny clothes, diapers (both used and new), and toys tossed carelessly around by a little prince or princess slowly developing motor skills.

"How are you feeling?" Maxon's voice brought her back from her musings, and she realized she'd been staring dazedly at the files for a few moments too long.

"Not well." America admitted. "But I _need_ to be at this meeting."

It was a K update, and America wasn't going to miss any more of those, even if she had to get up in the middle of labor and wheel herself to the meeting room between contractions.

Maxon ran a hand anxiously through his hair. "I know, Love, I agree. I just hate this. Three months ago, if you'd been in this kind of discomfort, I could have fixed it. Rubbed your shoulders, brought you chocolate, drawn you a bath… Now, there's nothing I can do. No matter what, you're going to be uncomfortable, in pain even. You know I'd rather die than see you in pain."

"Do you know what still helps?" America asked, fixing a wry little smile on her face.

Maxon seemed to read her mind and stepped up to her, before softly patting her on the shoulder. "Everything is going to be fine." he offered.

America took the deepest breath the baby would allow, and then nodded, dragging his hand down to her belly. "Better than fine. But it might be nearly time for my maternity leave."

Maxon gave her belly a quick massage and then nodded, seriously, "Yes, we should meet with Silvia on the matter."

"Silvia has more than hinted at it several times today, herself." America said. "But I don't want to make any major decisions until we get through this week. Once I settle into the new bedroom, once I start taking the sleeping aid and we make more progress with Jefferson Potter, I'm sure I'll be getting more rest and feeling better."

"I sincerely hope so." Maxon frowned.

"But if I'm still this miserable, even after things settle down, then I think I'll have to take my leave." America concluded.

"You—" Maxon punctuated this with a quick peck on her lips, "Are a very wise queen, and I love you." He placed a hand on the small of her back, kneading the sore muscles briefly before applying a gentle pressure to guide her toward the security meeting. "Incidentally, I meant what I said before, America. Everything _is_ going to be fine. That baby isn't going to stay in there forever; in fact, it'll be out by Christmas and you'll be feeling much better. I'd like to hire one more nanny before the baby is born, especially given that we know Kenna will be trying for another baby of her own in the months to come."

"Do you have anyone in mind?" America asked.

Maxon chuckled, "I think Nicoletta all but volunteered on the conference call this morning. She's getting very excited, making plans to spend New Years with us. She wants plenty of time with her godchild before we start making public appearances with the baby. To her, it's the equivalent of VIP access."

"The Italian Princess wants VIP access to my baby." America giggled, shaking her head. "Words I never thought I'd be saying, before entering your Selection, your Royal Husbandness."

Maxon laughed, "I told her we'd have to make sure you and the baby were up for visitors… especially visitors of Nicoletta's caliber."

"It'll be fine." America reassured him. "When I'm too tired and the baby is too cranky, May can entertain Nic and her cousins. That's what I keep her around for."

Maxon smirked at this and shared an amused look with his wife before nodding and saying, "Well, even so, we'll make sure the visit is no longer than a few days. Five at most."

"Sounds perfect." America smiled.

"And I want you to spend some time in the pool tonight before dinner. Take someone with you. Maybe Kenna and Astra?"

"Good idea, Astra is constantly fascinated when she gets the chance to see my exposed belly."

"What did she say last night?" Maxon asked, amusement already all over his face. After the funeral and the rigors of the rest of the work day, America's back had been practically on fire, and Maxon ended dinner early to send her off to the indoor pool for some relief while he took care of a little more post-dinner paperwork. He'd greatly missed the opportunity to splash around with his little Pumpkin head, though.

"She said that the baby is bigger than she is." Maxon laughed and America shook her head, trying to keep from smiling too widely, "And I told her that the baby is actually very small, and so Astra was forced to assume that I'd been overeating. She told me to stop eating so many cookies because the baby needed that room to grow."

Maxon tried not to wheeze with laughter, but he couldn't really help it, "Oh, Ames." he managed, trying to sound sympathetic.

"It's sweet, really, she was just trying to protect her baby cousin." America shrugged, but the words came out a little sour. She really did miss her old, normal body. The body that was all _her_, and no extra person sharing her skin.

"Love," Maxon paused in the hallway and turned to her, seeming to read her thoughts, "I know you feel large—"

"Mountainous." America corrected.

"And it's hard for you to believe that you'll be getting even larger over the next month and a half."

"That's for sure." she scoffed.

"But please remember that this is such a treat for those of us who love you, to see you so—"

"Fat?"

"_America_." Maxon scolded sternly.

"I'm sorry. Just big, I'm just big, that's all."

"You are, as they said thousands of years ago, _great_ with child. With _my_ child, which is extra exciting for me." he said, smugly. "Love, did you know that, in that moment that you keep having nightmares about, that moment that I lay dying on the floor, _you_ were what I was thinking of?"

"Of course I knew that. You've told me _many_ times." America shifted her weight on her feet and placed a hand on her lower back to help support the added weight of the baby. Maxon seemed to find this gesture overwhelmingly endearing, if his smile was any indication.

"Ah, but did you know that one of the many regrets that flashed through my mind where you were concerned, in addition to never marrying you, never watching you flourish in your role as Queen, and never growing old with you; was that I would never get to see you like this?" he gestured to her exact stance. "Burgeoning belly, large with my child, hand on your back, can't even get out of our bed in the morning without a little hoist… I wanted _this_ more than anything."

America blinked. She remembered Maxon telling her that he'd mourned their life together, including the children he'd thought they'd never have, but she'd never known about this preoccupation, specifically. "Enormous, waddling, pees-twelve-times-a-night America? That's what you wanted?" America asked, skeptically.

"My heart was shattered, thinking I'd never see you like this, Ames. I _love_ this. I _love_ you, no matter how you look, but I especially love this look on you!" he shook his head, thinking he wasn't getting his point across, and gently took her face in his hands. "I know it's a small consolation to you, as you're in constant discomfort and you're bearing such a burden for the both of us… for all three of us, really… but you truly are making my dreams come true."

America smiled at this and leant forward. Maxon took this cue and pressed a firm kiss to her lips before releasing her.

"This morning when you dropped your earring, and you tried for two minutes to bend down and pick it up again before finally giving up and calling for Mary," Maxon grinned, a hand pressed hard to his chest, "I could feel my heart absolutely melting at the sight of you."

America was still smiling, even blushing a little, as she glared at him through the side of her eye, "You didn't think to, oh I don't know, _help_ your greatly pregnant wife pick up her earring _before_ she had to disturb her very busy maid?"

"I was too entranced. It was exactly the scene I came moments away from losing forever. Every little thing you do thrills me, Ames, it's been that way from the moment I first laid eyes on you, and it's never been more true than now. I hope you can remember that, and never doubt yourself or your physical appearance."

America had the silliest grin on her face as she let Maxon return his hand to the small of her back and continue guiding her to the meeting. "Thank you, Maxon."

"And I'll have a word with my beloved Pumpkin tonight."

"You're seeing her tonight?"

"I have a standing bedtime story date with her on Thursdays and Sundays." he shrugged, casually.

"I didn't know that." America objected.

"Just for a couple of weeks now." Maxon reassured her. "Her bedtime is frightfully early, nothing you or I would recognize as an appropriate hour for sleeping, it's usually well before we've reunited after our post-dinner obligations."

"Oh, I see."

"Tonight I will remind her that there is _always_room for more cookies when it comes to babies in their mommy's bellies."

America giggled just hearing Maxon say so many words ending in 'ies' in one sentence, and sighed in a contented way. She felt so loved, so nurtured. She'd been on the verge of tears before Maxon made his appearance in her office, and now she felt so warm and so at ease. Such was Maxon's power, she supposed. "How many daughters did you want to have, again?" she asked.

"Twelve? Perhaps thirteen little girls?" Maxon opened the door to security room B for her. They were the first to arrive.

She visualized the way Maxon interacted with Astra, and then imagined an Astra on each of his knees and one in each of his arms and she laughed. "Granted."

Maxon laughed, too. "I knew you'd come around to my way of thinking, Love."

Everything was laid out for the meeting, and America and Maxon perused the briefing materials set at their places at the table as they waited for the others to arrive. It helped, being able to openly clutch Maxon's hand as they read a rundown of K's most recent suspected activity.

Aspen was next into the room, looking handsome as ever in his full uniform.

"Mer." he smiled as he took his seat to her right. This was now a permanent seating arrangement, if Silvia wasn't at a meeting. Maxon liked to keep someone he trusted at America's right hand to help buffer her, and there was no one in the world Maxon trusted more than Aspen.

"Aspen." America greeted with a grin.

"You look great today." Aspen said, looking her over.

America stopped herself from asking if by 'great' he meant 'huge', and shared a quick glance with Maxon, who was trying to look very busy reading the briefing materials. Maxon winked at her and turned the page, and America turned back to Aspen's warm, happy face.

Aspen had probably spent his fair share of time imagining her with such a round stomach, to be fair. He'd wanted a family with her, he'd fully expected a life full of babies and toil and not quite enough food. Maybe, in Aspen's mind, this really was a good look on her. Maybe, to him, it meant that she was cared for and loved and that they'd both gotten the happy ending they'd dreamed of, if not delivered exactly how they'd dreamed it.

Deciding that Aspen wasn't just being nice, that some of part of him really did like her added girth, she smiled and said, "Thank you."

"Lucy asked me to send her love, and to check on you. See how you're fairing." Aspen said as he took his seat.

"Tell her that the baby and I are both healthy… but I'm definitely feeling the strain."

Aspen shook his head sympathetically, "I remember those times. Lucy was _miserable_ for the last month and a half. Of course, Meri was two weeks late, which really didn't help."

"I don't think I could handle this baby being two weeks late." America winced at the thought. "My body might honestly breakdown before then."

"Is the baby still active?" Aspen asked.

America nodded, stroking her belly as she replied, "Dr. Ashlar keeps saying that it will calm down 'any day now', that when it runs out of room, it won't squirm or kick so much, but so far it hasn't let any lack of space slow it down."

Aspen chuckled and placed a hand on her stomach, "Baby Schreave, this is your Uncle Aspen." he said in a stern voice. "You behave yourself and let your mother get plenty of rest."

The baby punched his hand and Aspen laughed, "Insubordinate little thing, isn't it?"

Maxon finally chimed in, unable to restrain himself any longer, "Just like its mother."

And they were off, joking and swapping pregnancy stories about their wives, perfectly at ease pretending America wasn't sitting right between them. This was what she got for letting her ex-boyfriend and her husband be friends.

Stavros was the one who finally got the men to stop, and only because it was time to start the meeting. Between stories of Lucy's nesting phase and America's new favorite pillow configuration, the rest of the attendees had arrived.

Looking around the table, there were a few junior advisers and several guards next to Aspen, including Carter. When Gavril and a familiar balding, red haired man walked in, America perked up.

"Mr. Evander?" America asked.

"Your Majesty." The representative from the research department bowed to her with a smile. The two of them were meeting buddies, they never really spoke outside of meetings, but in meetings they could always count on each other for amused glances, winks, and general agreement about whatever was happening.

"Are we getting an amendment update?" she asked Stavros, confused, as Gavril and Evander pulled two chairs up to the conference table and squeezed in between some junior advisers.

"Yes, very briefly, your Majesty. The English contingent is on their way back from the field, but they're behind schedule, so their representative will be joining us as soon as possible. In the mean time, I'd like to discuss the latest numbers and adjust our strategy accordingly."

The guards seemed to shift back in their seats, even Aspen. Of all of the possible meeting topics, the amendment seemed to bore them the most. America didn't know why. If she and Maxon made a mistake in implementing the amendment and the people rioted, the guards would have plenty of exciting work to do.

Evander spoke quickly, "According to the latest polls, the people are recovering from the shock of the amendment announcement, just as predicted. The campaigns to sway public opinion in favor of the amendment are working, but there is some question as to whether they'll work in time."

Gavril nodded, "We need to add a little grease to the fire."

"Yes, sir." Evander agreed. "Their Majesties' joint approval ratings now sit at 68 percent, certainly something to be celebrated, however it is still seven points shy of the 75% goal. Even if we were wrong with this latest polling, the margin of error is plus or minus six points."

"We might be at 74%?" Maxon perked up.

America shook her head, "We might be at 62%."

"You're not at 62%." Gavril reassured her.

"It's within our margin of error, though." America frowned.

Stavros intervened, "For the moment, we will trust our polling department and assume they are correct in their 68% estimate, as they've never led us astray before. I would also like to remind her Majesty that our 75% goal takes the margin of error into account. This amendment would be safe at 69%, if it were really 69%. Our goal is 75% so as to allow for the margin of error, not because 75% is the actual threshold."

"I understand." America said, slightly ameliorated.

Evander smiled sympathetically and said, "The true concern, at the moment, is that the growth in the numbers seems to have slowed considerably. They _are _rising, but not at the speeds they should be."

"We won't reach 75 at the current rate of growth?" America asked.

"Not… in time for the baby." Evander replied, eyes falling to the curve of her stomach cresting above the line of the conference table.

"We have several tools at our disposal to remedy the situation, your Majesty." Gavril assured her. "For starters, the nursery special on the _Report_."

"Yes." Maxon agreed. "We've put that off long enough."

"As soon as the construction on the third floor is done, we'll tape the segment." America agreed.

"Your family must be filmed this time, your Majesty." Gavril said.

"Of course." America agreed. "You should also speak with Marlee Woodwork, she proposed throwing a baby shower for me as a photo opportunity.

"Yes, Silvia mentioned that to me. An excellent idea. We can shoot those the same day." Gavril made a note. "I recommend acquiring the basics for the nursery before the shower, though, and allowing the handful of guests to bring accents. Stuffed animals, clothes, blankets and the like."

America gulped and looked over at Maxon. This wasn't even something they'd discussed yet. They didn't even have the first diaper. Looking down at her belly now, it was apparent that they were rapidly approaching the last minute, if that's what they were leaving it to.

"Don't worry, it won't be a problem." Maxon worked to assure both Gavril and America with his words.

"Which reminds me," Gavril said, turning to America. "I've had some interest expressed in setting up an area for the gifts that the citizens want to send for the baby."

"People are sending gifts?" America asked.

"Only a few so far, but if King Maxon's birth was any indication, there will be a tidal wave as December approaches."

"I see." America frowned. "We don't _need_ anything. I mean, technically we need _everything_, but we can get it for ourselves."

"Of course, ma'am. I recommend signing a generic thank you note plate to be copied, printed out, and automatically sent to every household who offers a gift, for the gifts to be sorted and if anything is unique or catches your eye, for you to keep it. Everything else should be distributed to your clinics. The clothing alone would be such a blessing—"

"Yes." America said, immediately and enthusiastically. "Yes, Gavril, I want to do that. That's a wonderful idea."

"I thought you might think so." he grinned and she smiled back at him. She felt so useful in that moment, being able to help so many mothers and babies. The very idea thrilled her.

Maxon asked, "When will that phone interview America and I granted to Rolph Lemex two weeks ago be published? I want to reinforce the economic benefits of the amendment. When women can earn more money for their families, fewer families will struggle to make ends meet. That_ must _be the message to the lower castes."

Gavril stiffened almost imperceptibly at the mention of his rogue rival. "Mr. Lemex has not shared his publishing schedule with me, but I presume it will be printed this coming week."

"Confirm that for me and let me know." Maxon commanded.

"Yes, your Majesty."

"Whichever week it is printed, that's when I'll go on the _Report _and we'll talk about the economic influence of the amendment." Maxon said. "That message will be everywhere."

Gavril looked between Maxon and America, "You won't _both _be there?"

Maxon and America spoke at the same time,

"America is done with live appearances—"

"It would probably be better coming from Maxon—"

They paused. America went first.

"It would look better coming from Maxon, less like I've overstepped traditional boundaries within the monarchy."

Gavril nodded his agreement.

Maxon added, "And I'd like America to be more or less done with live appearances." He looked to America to make sure she didn't object before continuing, "From now on, everything is pre-taped so that she is free from the stress of live performances, and free to rest during the actual show."

Stavros intervened, "Her Majesty _must _be with you at the ceremonial opening of the official legislative session."

"She absolutely will be." Maxon promised. "But I'd like to pre-tape anything else that she doesn't absolutely _have _to be present for."

"Yes, sir." Gavril agreed. Any halfheartedness in his tone was a result of his being reluctant to lose use of his star, the Queen, not his reluctance to safeguard her health and the well-being of the baby. He really did love them both, that much was obvious.

America squeezed Maxon's hand, gratefully. "I'll be off on maternity leave soon, anyway, Gavril. It shouldn't put too much of a dent in your production schedule."

"Not at all, ma'am." Gavril agreed, jovially. "A short disappearance from the public eye will do nothing but fuel hunger for the big baby reveal. Between the photographed baby shower and the pre-taped nursery special, we'll have plenty to hold us over in these last few weeks."

_Last. Few. Weeks. _

America lost all track of the conversation as the men continued back and forth about how to boost support for the amendment once America was off on maternity leave. She really was going to have this baby in a matter of weeks. Her due date was still seven weeks off, but that was nothing. No time at all. There was going to be a tiny, crying, hungry person completely dependent on her and Maxon for survival, and it was coming. In. Weeks.

And they didn't even have a crib.

It was like the nesting phase hit her all at once. She was making lists in her head of things to buy, where to put them, what kind of paint would be the most baby-friendly. They should get a stroller for walks through the gardens, and some baby swings for her and Maxon's offices. Kenna was still their only confirmed nanny! Maybe a night nurse would be helpful in the first few months? Just between the hours of midnight and 6:00 AM, to keep the King and Queen of Illéa from losing their minds from lack of sleep?

Gavril and Evander were standing, and Gavril came around to shake Maxon's hand and plant a brief kiss on America's cheek.

"Everything's going to be fine." Gavril said, for her ears only. "We've got this under control."

"Thank you." America mouthed to him as he nodded and followed Evander out of the room.

Maxon's eyes were asking if America was alright. America nodded to reassure him, and began scribbling a to-do and to-get list. The lists helped ease the stress of realizing that, somewhere along the way, she'd gone nearly full-term in her pregnancy without acquiring so much as a bottle. She felt like the worst mother in the entire world.

She supposed it was true that the baby would have the necessities, even if she and Maxon never acquired a thing. So long as she was there, the baby would have food. There was plenty of cloth to be used for diapers in an emergency, and it wasn't like they couldn't pad a dresser drawer to create a makeshift crib, or even co-sleep with the baby, so long as they were careful. If she went into labor right that second, and the baby was magically born before the end of the meeting, everything would be _fine_.

But still, she kept listing.

She listed and listed, ignoring everything that was happening, until there was a knock at the doors and a guard announced, "Agent Sheffield has arrived."

"Very good, we're ready." Stavros nodded.

America was curious, to say the least. She'd been hearing about the English spies for months now, but she'd never seen any of them. Maxon had mentioned their leader, Agent Sheffield a few times, but she didn't know much about the espionage expert.

She was picturing a tall man, maybe with Aspen's build, wearing dark sunglasses and a well-tailored suit. Maybe he'd have an earpiece with which to communicate to the other spies. She'd seen enough action movies with Maxon to know to expect such a thing.

Therefore, all of her expectations were shattered into pieces on the floor when a tall, gorgeous blonde woman walked in wearing a form-fitting black dress and a gold necklace. No earpiece, no sunglasses, but she did carry a sleek leather document bag.

"Your Majesties," her silky, accented voice announced, "My apologies for keeping you waiting." she offered a short curtsy and proceeded to her chair opposite Maxon.

"Not to worry, Agent Sheffield, we had plenty to attend to while you were gone." Maxon reassured her.

"It's an honor to meet you, Queen America." Agent Sheffield said, and for a moment, the cool expression of professionalism on her face faltered and a look of true excitement shone through. "You are an inspiration to myself and countless women throughout the world."

America picked her proverbial jaw up off the floor and replied, "The honor is mine. I had no idea… Women can serve in the military in England?"

"Yes, ma'am, our population is much smaller than that of Illéa, we need every able body we can get."

"What a wise sentiment." America turned her head with a falsely sweet smile to Stavros and Maxon.

"Honestly, Love, one reform at a time." Maxon grumbled.

"There won't be a legal basis to refuse women the right to serve in the military after this amendment is enacted, at any rate." America said. "That's one hurdle cleared."

"Yes, ma'am." Sheffield agreed.

"Shall we proceed?" Stavros interrupted, with barely concealed annoyance.

"Of course." America grinned, still saccharinely sweet.

"Agent Sheffield, your report?" Stavros prompted.

"We've got wanted posters for Jefferson Potter in every major city in the country, and in-between all programming on the public access channel. My team and I have been following up on leads all day, and we're beginning to construct a useful pattern of behavior. He doesn't stay in one city for longer than a week, he only comes to Angeles when he means to strike, he has an unusual penchant for sweet rolls which he tends to buy at local bakeries. He lives more than comfortably for a man who started out in life as one of your Fives."

"…I'd thought he was upper caste." America shook her head, meaningfully merging K and Jefferson Potter in that way for the first time.

"Some of his assumed identities are, your Majesty." Sheffield explained. "In order to pass himself off as 'Kaplan Whitmore, second caste', for example, he was tutored within the rebel infrastructure so as to carefully cultivate the appropriate speech patterns. By all accounts, he's a very intelligent man, capable of quick and detailed learning."

"He memorized hand-drawn maps of the Palace." Aspen contributed with a nod. "Maps made by his spy. We got our hands on one during a raid, the drawing was nice but it still would have taken a sharp mind to translate the directions on the map into directions in the real Palace."

"So, do you think you can catch him?" America asked, getting straight to the point.

Sheffield nodded, a no-nonsense look on her face. "I do. And, it is my recommendation that the time has come to cut off his funding."

Maxon and Stavros shared a significant look. "It will make him wild, desperate." Maxon reminded them.

"He's like to a rat in the sewers at the moment, your Majesty." Sheffield said, an odd turn of phrase that America supposed had evolved separately, in England. "He's traveling freely. We need to flush him out, bring him above ground where we now have the infrastructure in place to catch him. Cutting off his money might make him desperate, but that desperation will lead to bold, brash moves that will point us to him as brightly as a spotlight."

"I agree with Sheffield." Aspen said. "We're ready for him, here."

Stavros and Maxon shared a long look. "Very well. It seems I have a difficult phone call to make to my cousin." Maxon finally answered, his voice sounding cold and strained. America knew that talking of his family's betrayal was hard for him.

"We'll freeze the accounts first." Stavros added. "You don't need to accuse King Thorvald of a thing. Just gently mention that if Swendish money were found in the bank accounts of Illéan terrorists, it would constitute a most unfortunate act of war. This would also be the week to announce Princess Nicoletta and King Eaon as the godparents of your child, reminding Thorvald of your strong international relations and the countries he would have to contend with in such a war."

"Yes." Maxon said. "I will announce the godparents on a special edition of the _Report_. Tomorrow."

"Very good, sir, I'll let Gavril know." Stavros made a note.

"There is still the issue of the loyalists." Maxon said, looking around the room. "The donations from our own citizens have slowed, but that doesn't mean that it can't do us harm."

"Are you ready to discuss instituting a system of aristocracy?" Stavros asked.

"Would it help?" Maxon replied.

"Our research still indicates that it very much would."

"Good. Then let's do it, and end the southern rebels once and for all." Maxon said, firmly.

"We'll have a draft of a possible title system on your desk as soon as possible, no later than Saturday." Stavros made a note as he spoke.

"And that should choke off the majority of the funding, once the money from Swendway is frozen?" Maxon asked.

"Yes, sir." Stavros nodded. "Then it will only be a matter of catching a desperate maniac, rather than a well-funded desperate maniac."

"Good."

"Sir," An assistant adviser spoke up, nervously. "What will we do with the Swendish money once we un-freeze the bank accounts and seize the assets?"

Maxon turned to America and smiled, though he didn't look truly happy. "Why, it will go towards funding my beloved wife's initiatives, of course."

America blinked, surprised, "What?"

"Some of it will go to the clinics, some of it will be earmarked for education, childcare, libraries… whatever she thinks is best."

"…Seriously?" America breathed, her heart thudding in her chest as she considered the possibilities.

"Absolutely. You've sacrificed more than your fair share for this amendment. It's time for something to be easy, for a change. Take the money that would have caused so much despair and heartbreak and death, and use it to nurture new life, to educate and care for our people."

America didn't cry, and she didn't kiss him, but she could have. Instead, she kept the tears in her eyes and squeezed his hand tightly, overwhelmed with gratitude. She'd married a very good man, in spite of everything his childhood was, and he _never_ failed to blow her away with his kind heart.

"I love you." he mouthed to her.

"I love you." she said back, not caring if everyone heard. It needed to be said.

* * *

That night, after dinner and her husband-mandated swimming session, America stayed with Kenna, James, and Astra until Maxon appeared.

Astra invited her to join them for the bedtime story so that the baby could hear it, too, which was a very generous offer, and America cuddled with Astra until the very end of the chapter, both of them lulled into a trance by the sound of Maxon's voice. Astra didn't want them to leave, but she was heavy-limbed and bleary eyed when the lights went out and she got her goodnight kiss from her parents, and from her Aunt and Uncle. She was practically unconscious before the door to her temporary bedroom was closed.

Afterwards, Maxon and America cuddled up on Kenna and James' temporary sofa, Kenna and James reclined on the loveseat mirroring it, and Maxon gently stroked America's arm as he made his proposition.

"One thing, we decided today, that's going to be happening over the course of the next year or so is that we're going to be rolling out aristocratic titles to the upper castes." Maxon said. "It's an empty gesture, really, it won't come with privileges or land or anything like that. It's just a word they can call themselves, as a consolation for losing their One and Two status. There might even be something for some of the Threes, depending."

America, mirroring her sister by laying reclined against her husband, lazily trailed her fingers across her large belly as she added, "It'll help our numbers, it'll help us catch K, and it's ultimately meaningless, so we're going to do it."

James shrugged and Kenna's head bobbed up and down on his chest as he did so. "That sounds smart."

"Well, before we get much farther into the plans and the first drafts, I wanted to talk with you both about something." Maxon said, looking between his sister-in-law and his brother-in-law.

Kenna and James craned their heads to share a confused look. "Okay." Kenna indicated for Maxon to continue.

"If we modeled our plan after the one the English currently have in place, there would be special titles for the royal family. Likely something along the line of 'Duke' and 'Duchess'."

"Hmph." James grinned. "I would have expected 'Lord' and 'Lady', or maybe 'Count' and 'Countess'."

"Lords and ladies will likely be former Twos, Dukes and Duchesses are better." Maxon winked.

"That sounds like fun. Duchess Kenna Orders, I like the sound of that." Kenna grinned.

Maxon nodded and pressed a kiss to America's head, breathing in the smell of her shampoo. She was glad she hadn't gotten her hair wet at the pool, now that Maxon was finding the scent of her hair so relaxing.

"The thing is, Astra would not inherit that title until it was passed down to her, many years from now, upon your deaths."

"Assuming we get this amendment instituted. Otherwise, she can't inherit it at all." America frowned.

"Love," Maxon said, warmly, right into her ear. His breath on that sensitive skin sent chills up and down her spine and she couldn't stop herself from wishing he'd tease her earlobe just a little with his teeth. He wouldn't, of course, because they were with family. But she wished he would. "We're going to get the amendment. Don't worry about that."

America nodded, not trusting her suddenly parched mouth to speak.

"At any rate," Maxon said, returning his attention to James and Kenna, "Astra would not inherit the title of Duchess until much later. Your other children don't stand to inherit it at all. They'd have a lesser title, I'm not clear on the specifics, yet. Likely lord or lady."

Kenna shrugged, "That all sounds wonderful, Maxon. What are you worried about?"

"Well… here's the part I wanted to discuss with you first." Maxon said, nervously. "You see, according to the last draft I saw of the aristocratic structure… albeit, we haven't really talked about doing this in months, so things may have changed… there were a few different ways we could approach the language when it came to the royal family."

"What do you mean?" James asked.

"You see… there's a way to manage the language for your titles, the Dukes and Duchesses, that would honor your position in the royal family more formally than it is now, within the caste system." Maxon sighed, worried he wasn't making sense, and America squeezed his hand to encourage him. He'd mentioned this over dinner to her, and she couldn't wait to hear what James and Kenna thought of it. "Basically, it would mostly impact Astra and the rest of your children, as well as May's and Gerad's future children. Essentially, depending on how we phrase this…" Maxon turned toward Astra's bedroom door, as if trying to peer through it and see if she was still awake to hear them. He lowered his voice anyway and said, "Astra could become a P-R-I-N-C-E-S-S." he spelled it out, just to be safe.

Kenna's eyes grew round and James' jaw dropped, "Wow." Kenna said.

"Really?" James asked, surprised.

"Only in title, only until she inherits 'Duchess', and your future children become lords or ladies after your death. She wouldn't be in line for the throne or anything like that, it's just honorary."

James let out a low whistle as he let that wash over him. After a moment, he said, "She'd be an actual… P-R-I-N-C-E-S-S of Illéa?"

"Yes." Maxon said. "I didn't want to make the decision on that clause until we'd spoken. It's a title that can be a handful, if being the Prince was any indication." Maxon looked burdened, just at the memory. "She wouldn't have any more royal duties than she would without the title, no more than what you both do for us now, but she'd be…" he mouthed, "Princess Astra Orders of Illéa," and then he spoke normally, "Until she became 'Duchess Astra Orders' or whatever her married name becomes."

Kenna and America's eyes met, amused. They had a bet going that that last name would probably be 'Woodwork'. Astra and Kile were two peas from the same pod.

"Would her husband become Duke?" James asked.

"No, he'd likely be the Duke-Consort." Maxon said, "Although, that matter is far from settled."

"Hmm… can we handle raising an actual little princess?" James asked Kenna. Kenna sat up from his lap and stretched as she met her husband's eyes.

"She'll be insufferable, won't she?" Kenna chuckled.

"She'd never forgive us if we turned this offer down." James mused.

"But what about her normal childhood?" Kenna frowned.

"Oh, Ken. She's got her own bedroom in the Palace, for goodness' sake." James grinned. "Her favorite person in the world is Maxon, there is no separating those two, and Maxon just happens to be the King. She's _not _going to have the same childhood we had, but that doesn't mean she won't be happy, healthy, and well-grounded."

"That's true." Maxon nodded. "Just because I might occasionally whisk all the kids away on my private jet to Italy for the weekend doesn't mean they won't be normal."

Kenna laughed and sighed in the same sound, "Is it what's best for her, James?"

James scratched the back of his head, thinking it through carefully. "I don't think it will hurt her, either way. And it's a rare opportunity."

Kenna chewed her lip and then looked back to Maxon, whose nose was buried in America's hair again. "What do you think?"

Maxon took his time, before he answered honestly, "I would have liked having other princes and princesses around, when I was growing up. Even if they weren't in line for the throne, it would have eased some of the… loneliness. Now, I don't plan on this baby being an only child, not by a long shot," Maxon smiled. "But it might be less isolating for our little ones to have cousins with that title, too."

America grinned, seizing his hand to play with as she asked, "Do you think it would put a limit to playground bossiness? Less 'I'm the prince, I get to swing first'?"

Maxon chuckled, "I never had playmates, I'm not certain if pulling rank is an issue."

"It would create equality, though, between all of Mom's grandchildren." Kenna said. "That could be good."

"Princess Astra." James mouthed.

Kenna sighed, "Alright then. If James approves, you have our blessing."

James grinned, "We should tell her on her birthday. Do you think it will be official enough by then?"

Maxon nodded, "We're announcing this as soon as possible to stymie the flow of money into the rebels coffers."

"She's already asked for a princess-themed birthday party. She's obsessed. You know she's worn that crown you gave her at Halloween every single day since, don't you? I've caught her napping in it twice." Kenna smiled.

America laughed, "If you take any girl her age and bring her to live in a beautiful palace full of kings and queens and ballgowns and ponies, she's going to go through a princess stage. Hard. I don't think you should worry about her."

"You're right." Kenna agreed. "Only now, this won't be a princess stage. She's going to be an actual princess."

"Shh." America pressed a finger to her lips and winked at her sister, reminding her to keep her voice down.

"I have to think of the perfect way to tell her." Maxon said, eagerly. "I won't be able to explain the aristocracy bit to her."

America beamed, an idea striking her, and she whispered, "We'll make her a special, glittery certificate, and we'll package it with a princess starter kit. A dress, a scepter, another crown, maybe. And you can explain to her that your present to her is that now she'll be a real princess."

Maxon's brown eyes were alight and sparkling at the thought, his smile matched America's as he nodded his agreement at her idea. "Well, would you look at that." Maxon grinned, amazement in his tone.

"What?" America asked.

"Good things are coming from this K mess, after all."

He was right. It wasn't enough to bring back Kota or Esther, it wasn't enough to end the exhausting manhunt for Jefferson Potter or heal the wounds of the southern provinces that created Jefferson Potter, but good things were beginning to surface from this mess. Enough money to make up for the sacrifices America had made in her budget earlier that year, a new title which would lead to new opportunities for her family. On December 11th, the amendment would be instituted, and soon after that the baby would be born. The Schreave line would have an heir, and it would become much, much harder to overthrow Maxon. Good things were _finally_ happening after a long, hard, painful year.

All they had to do was make it to December 11th, and they were in the clear.


	48. Chapter 48

"I think I've put this part on backwards." Maxon frowned, puzzling over the ornately carved wooden bars in front of him.

"At least it looks like a crib now." America reminded him, her legs crossed as she sat on the floor, leaning back against the wall for support. She had the handwritten directions, complete with clearly drawn diagrams, spread across the floor in front of her.

The craftsman who'd designed and hand-carved the nursery furniture had been more than willing to assemble it all for them, he'd assured them that it would have been his honor and he would have completely waved his usual fee. Maxon, of course, had refused.

He wanted to put the baby's crib together, himself, just like any other parent in Illéa. He wanted this aspect of their lives to be as if he and America were just Max and Mer. It was one of those milestones he didn't want to skip, or cheat at by having someone else do it for them.

So, the craftsman had painstakingly drawn out the directions for each item of furniture, the crib, the changing table, the dresser drawers, and a handsome stack of storage cubbies, then personally assured delivery of all require parts and pieces, and made certain that Maxon and America would have any tools necessary to assemble the beautiful, honey brown contraptions on their own.

It would have been a perfect, simple plan. It would have been a nice couple of hours putting together some baby furniture, and then Maxon and America would have gone off on a date, or nap, or spent some quality time with the family. It would have been easy if it wasn't for the fact that, in spite of being _Max_, Maxon also wanted to be _King_, in that _Kings_ didn't need _instructions._ America had tried to warn him that he couldn't have it both ways, he couldn't be King Maxon of Illéa and regular citizen Max at the same time, but he hadn't listened.

So now here they were, five hours later, still not finished.

"Let's just put the baby in a whicker basket." Maxon suggested, running a hand through his bedraggled hair.

"I don't think that will work." America leant her head against the wall and rolled it back and forth. The firm pressure against her scalp was soothing.

"We'd put a pillow in first, we're not animals." Maxon assured her, but his heart wasn't in it.

"Let's take a break, Max." America pleaded. "Let's eat, your baby needs nourishment."

Maxon sighed as heavily as if The German Federation was angrily abandoning trade negotiations with New Asia in the middle of a global peace summit, and then collapsed back on the floor, surrounded by tiny silver screws and brown paper which had protected the furniture during shipment. "Yes, of course, Love. I could do with some food."

"I heard a rumor that it's spaghetti night." America tantalized.

"Well, you would know, as you set the Palace menus." Maxon smiled and took a soothing breath. "What is this, the third spaghetti night this week?"

America rubbed her belly and closed her eyes, decompressing. "Now is not the time to start begrudging me my cravings, Max. Not this close to the finish line."

"You're right, my love."

"At least I'm not mixing my spaghetti with yogurt and pickles anymore."

"That's certainly true, although your dessert pasta remains something of a curiosity."

"My _dessert pasta_ is noodles, chocolate sauce, cinnamon, and a bit of sweet whipped cream. I think you're jealous more than anything, about that craving."

"Guilty as charged, Love." Maxon grinned.

America peeked an eye open at the prone form of her husband on the floor across from her and considered him for a moment. "Too tired to move?"

"Who would have thought that a day of assembling nursery furniture would be more exhausting than a day full of meetings and high-stakes negotiations?"

"And I physically can't haul myself to my feet." America considered. "What are we going to do? Starve?"

"Someone will come for us eventually." Maxon reasoned, rolling his head over to gaze at her, admiringly. Even in her enormous state, he still had that sparkle in his eye when he looked at her. That warm glow of attraction and, more than that, love, that he saved only for her.

"Well, yeah, but I might have starved to death by then. It's been two whole hours since my afternoon snack." America reminded him, semi-exaggerating. She was truly ravenous, though she had no real reason to be as she'd already eaten five times that day. Third trimester appetite was not to be trifled with, America was learning.

Her mother said that it was because her body was trying to store up energy to be used after the baby was born. Thousands of years ago, in the wild, it would have taken a few days before a new mother was ready to go hunt/gather after giving birth, so women's bodies learned to store up what they could in the weeks before bearing their children. It was an amazing primal instinct that left Maxon in awe and America completely irritated. Thanks to her upbringing, being hungry still triggered that uneasiness, that deep, basic fear that she wouldn't ever have enough to eat, for herself or for her baby. No amount of being Queen would take that away, it seemed.

Maxon was very sensitive to all of the reasons behind her irritation at being hungry, both the constant, annoying, primal need to put on weight before giving birth, and the subconscious trigger that stomach-rumbling hunger set off in America's psyche. He could see in her eyes the moment she went from mildly annoyed at her hunger to the beginnings of panic very slowly dripping in and building up because neither of them were moving to feed her.

"I think Avery is on duty." Maxon said, in a soothing voice.

These words shattered all of the anxiety behind America's hunger, and she even laughed at their ridiculousness as they both cried out, in tones that made it clear that they were uninjured, "AVERY!"

Not three seconds later, Avery burst through the nursery door, his eyes falling to the floor where he found his sovereign leaders, and he bit back a chortle at the sight of them, utterly defeated by the baby's crib.

America explained, for Maxon had an arm cast over his eyes, looking every bit like he'd fainted at the job still left to be done. "We're too tired to move, Avery. Please send for Mary with our dinner trays. We'll be eating right here. On the ground. Unmoving."

"Yes, ma'am."

Without opening his eyes, Maxon said, "Do you know anything about assembling a crib, Avery? As you can see, I did a masterful job at setting up the changing table and the dresser-drawers, although the crib with its moving parts continues to elude me."

'Masterful' was an exaggeration, he'd fumbled and complained all afternoon, but at least he'd gotten the other items together with little enough difficulty. America's job was to hand him parts, pieces, and tools, and occasionally to screw in a few odds ands ends to save time. Mostly, she kept him company as he slowly unraveled and descended into insanity at the hands of their unborn child's nursery furniture.

"Sir, I was completely incompetent when assembling my son's crib with my wife. Though I managed the task eventually, at the last possible minute, actually, I wouldn't presume to know enough to advise you on the matter."

Maxon sighed, jaw tense, and nodded, still looking for all the world like a damsel-in-distress, sprawled out as he was.

"Dinner, please, Avery." America reminded him, ending the guard's consultation with Maxon. "I'm worried that the heir to the Illéan throne is currently considering cannibalizing me."

Avery bowed, his lips tugged into a small, discreet smile, but his eyes reflected the solemnity with which he approached the duty of procuring food for a famished pregnant woman. Possibly because of his experiences with his wife when they were expecting his son.

When she and Maxon were alone again, America slumped lower against the wall and looked from the instructions to the crib, considering the dilemma. "I think we might have confused the front and back legs."

"They're the same size." Maxon objected.

"But the holes for the screws are cut in different places. The ornate finish isn't facing outward, we're looking at plain wood where we should be seeing gorgeous carvings."

Maxon groaned, "Oh, who cares about stupid carvings?! It's a baby, not an art historian."

America blinked forcefully, shooting Maxon a look that told him to back off of the snark, immediately, if he wanted to avoid offending her. "I'm trying to help."

"I'm sorry. I really do need to eat something, then I'll be feeling better." Maxon was completely repentant as he stretched languidly, his back cracking in protest from all the physical work he'd done on the floor that day. "On the bright side, these carpets are _really_ soft, Ames. Excellent choice, Love." he complimented her.

The renovations on the third floor were done in record time, only seven days from start to finish. Silvia had come to America with several impressive sketches from architects ready and anxious to work on something as high-profile and prestigious as a Palace renovation. In the end, America had selected a proposal that knocked down the walls of her bedroom entirely, as well as turning the door where Esther was shot into a perfectly blended, indistinguishable stretch of new wall.

Now Maxon's bedroom (only changed for the new carpeting) was attached to a brand new family room (America's former bedroom made completely unrecognizable).

The architect had also found plenty of room for a new nursery, in eliminating the Queen's former bathroom and closet spaces. It wasn't as large as Maxon's cavernous nursery had been, from what America had seen of the place, but it was more than enough room for a baby or two, and a couple of nannies to boot.

The new, closer nursery had the added benefit of allowing the Palace a good excuse for the sudden construction. They didn't want word of Esther's murder to escape Palace walls, and this way when anyone asked why there was work being done on the King's and Queen's bedrooms, it was easy to say that their Majesties had wanted the baby to be close at all times, and the old nursery, on the other side of the third floor, was just too far away.

America's new bedroom was attached to the family room, opposite Maxon's, and she still had access to her balcony from her bedroom, which was very important to her. Her furniture was all new, and completely reconfigured. Nothing about the living space was remotely the same as it had been before. When America walked in to see the finished product for the first time, the sweet smell of sawdust mixed with the sickly smell of paint still hanging heavy in the air, America knew she'd chosen the right architect for the job.

This was almost like a brand new palace, focused on her family rather than the elegance and extravagance of royal life. The furniture and décor was simpler, more welcoming, less ornate but somehow more beautiful because of it. She loved it, and she couldn't find Esther's dead body in her memory, no matter where she looked.

Now, two days later, she and Maxon sat on their new, plush, cream-colored carpet, a mostly-assembled nursery before them, and a genuine sense of ease washing over her. She was exhausted, but not like she'd been all last week. This week, she felt settled, grounded. Happy. In some ways she was still completely unprepared for this baby, but in other ways, she was finally ready.

For example, the baby now had a room, and a designated diaper-changing zone in the form of a changing table that, even when it was 3:30 in the morning and the baby was screaming and smelled horribly of poo, as unhappy and exhausted as America would be in that moment, she would also be able to laugh at the memory of Maxon assembling it between uncharacteristic curses and dropping a drill on his foot.

America cast her eyes around the brand new room, finally able to distantly, vaguely imagine her own tiny baby in residence here. "I can't wait to see it fully-decorated tomorrow."

"Yes, about that, Love, did Silvia go over the itinerary with you?"

"No, I gave Silvia the day off since you and I were doing this all day." America gestured to the messy, but mostly assembled room.

"Right, well then I had better warn you. You and the girls will have the baby shower in the women's room."

"Perfect."

"Kenna and Marlee are co-hosting, as it is customary for sisters to throw these types of events, but Marlee simply would not take 'no' for an answer, as I understand it." Maxon looked puzzled, as though he couldn't understand the fuss.

"What about May?" America asked, frowning. It was almost offensive that her baby sister didn't want to enter the fight over hosting the party.

"Ah, yes. May will be there for part of the festivities, but as far as the _Report _goes, she'll be featured much more heavily in the nursery decoration special. She'll be with me all day, and she's got a surprise for you, which is really why I brought this up."

"Let me guess: I'm not allowed into the room until May is finished?"

"That's right."

America shook her head at the predictability of her sister. "Whatever mural she's got planned, she knows she only has a few hours to finish it, doesn't she?"

"She is an expert, an absolute professional, Ames. She knows what she needs to do and how long it will take to do it."

"You're right."

"The whole shower should only take two hours. There will be greetings, cake, and gifts, all completely photographed from beginning to end—"

"But no video?"

"Not for the shower." Maxon confirmed.

"Then?"

"Then you'll take a nap, and when we're ready for you, someone will fetch you. May and I will reveal the work we've done, you and I will get to add some touches, and finally, we'll put all of the gifts from the shower into the room. And that will be it. Five approval points, as good as ours."

"…Assuming the crib doesn't fall apart the first time it's touched, for all of Illéa to see." America smirked.

Maxon cast her an unamused look. "I'm working on it."

"Can you believe you're the first king in Illéan history to personally assemble his heir's crib?"

"Those were smart men, the men who skipped all of this." Maxon grumbled, but he didn't mean it. He'd spent the whole day working with his hands, talking with his wife, and dreaming about his child. As far as he was concerned, it was one of the best days of his life.

He crawled over and rested his head on her knee. She couldn't see his face around her enormous, round stomach but she found his hair and started rubbing his head, feeling the breath he exhaled in relief at the sensation.

"Does your mother still think it's a boy?" Maxon asked, and America felt his nose press against her belly.

"Yes. She says I'm carrying low, though I'm not sure what that possibly has to do with whether our baby is a boy or a girl."

"Maybe there's something different in your hormones when you carry boys versus girls, and that accounts for the difference in belly height?" Maxon postulated.

"Worth studying, perhaps." America smiled.

"I thought of more boy names, but I know you'll just tell me to add them to the list." he sounded forlorn.

"Maxon, we can pick names right here, right now, if you want." America reassured him. "I just think we'll be doubting our choices until the moment the baby is born, if we pick names now. I think, once we see the baby, we'll just _know_. We'll know if it's a Maisy or a Jameson or a Ravenna or a Hendrick."

Maxon's fingertips brushed her belly lightly as he stared at it, an inch in front of his face. "I know. I agree. You're right, I just… I want it _now_. I'm tired of waiting, I want that baby _now_. I want to carry it with me to meetings and bounce it in my arms while Stavros briefs me on economic matters or foreign affairs. Give me my baby, Ames." he said, without a trace of demand in his tone.

"Not until December 11th." America remained firm. "Behave yourself, or I'll keep it with me until January."

"You wouldn't dare." Maxon tried to sound outraged, but she could tell by his tone that he was grinning.

"I know how you feel." America finally said, continuing to massage Maxon's head. "I want it, too. We're going to be a _family_, Max. A little, three-person family. We'll go on family picnics and have family swimming pool time, or visit museums or the zoo. And through it all, it will really just be you and me and the baby we made. A _family_. I want that."

"Have I told you today how much I love you?"

"Five or six times." she teased.

"How about how in awe of you I am?"

"Three or four." She confirmed.

"Alright, then. As long as you're aware."

That was the moment Mary appeared with a tray full of spaghetti, perfectly seasoned meatballs, and garlic bread.

"Oh, my God." America groaned as the scent assaulted her nose. "Mary, you saint, thank you for bringing our dinner so quickly."

"We shouldn't have waited so long to call you." Maxon agreed. "We're famished."

Mary smiled and lowered the tray to the floor, then knelt before them and helped to set them up. She laid a down a table cloth so they wouldn't accidentally ruin the new carpets with rogue spaghetti or fallen meatballs, and then she dished out two enormous helpings onto two plates, before pouring ice cold water into each of their glasses.

"Tell me what else I can do for you, your Majesty." Mary entreated as America stuffed her face full of an _enormous_ bite of pasta and proceeded to get sauce all over her face. She balanced her plate on her stomach, chewed, and then took a drink of water, thoroughly satisfied. "I'd like dessert pasta soon."

"Yes ma'am, shall I have the chef assemble it, or would you rather I bring you the ingredients?"

"Chef knows how I like it by now, he can assemble it."

"Very good, ma'am."

"S'mores for me, Mary." Maxon replied.

America froze, garlic bread half way to her lips. "S'mores?"

Mary recognized that wide-eyed expression and laughed, "S'mores for _both _of you, and dessert pasta for her Majesty."

"And milk." America said.

"Yes, milk would be lovely." Maxon agreed.

Mary stood and curtsied. "Enjoy your picnic, your Majesties." and she left them alone.

America shared a happy look with Maxon, who now sat across the tray from her so as to facilitate faster eating. "Picnic." America grinned at her garlic bread. "We're having a picnic in our baby's room."

"Our brand new baby's brand new room." Maxon agreed. "I'm glad we're not using the old nursery, Ames. This one is a fresh start. A new era. Everything our baby will be for this monarchy, for this country… for us."

"How did your parents handle midnight feedings with your nursery so far away?" America mused, not bothering to wipe the extra sauce from her mouth. She was too hungry to slow down.

Maxon shrugged, chewing his way through a meatball before answering, "Father wasn't concerned. He didn't have much to do with me until I was old enough to train. He left me to Mother and the nannies until I was around eight. And mother never would have complained to him. Not about something as trivial as the walk between her room and mine."

America tried not to linger on the aching pang that thought filled her chest with. "Hmm… how bad is it that I want to abandon this fork and eat straight from the plate?"

Maxon shrugged, seriously. "We're pretty hungry, and Silvia isn't here. I'll do it if you'll do it."

As one, they set their forks aside and lowered their faces to the pasta, practically inhaling their food for a solid minute before looking up at each other. Red sauce dotted each of their noses. They laughed so hard, America's plate almost fell off of her belly.

* * *

The next morning, America woke alone in her new bed with the sun bright on her face. There was a note on Maxon's pillow telling her that he was working on a project in the gardens this morning, and instructing her to spend some time in the pool before joining him.

America rang for Paige and put on a red two piece swimming suit as she waited for her breakfast to arrive. Her maids had offered to create or find maternity one piece swimming suits for her, but America had refused them, much to her own surprise. She'd been wearing two pieces for her entire pregnancy, and she liked the feel of the water against her belly. She just didn't want the constriction of wet fabric stretched tight over her baby bump, it was probably a mothering instinct.

America tossed her hair into a high bun to keep it from getting wet later on, when she went to the pool, and then proceeded to make the bed and rearrange her new vanity until Paige arrived.

"Ma'am?" Paige asked, confused, as America sorted through various eyeshadows.

"Um…" America knew that her maids kept the vanity perfectly organized to suit their needs as they made her up each day, and they might not appreciate her meddling. "It was bothering me… I thought, maybe, by size instead of shade? It'll fit better in the drawer and…" America looked down helplessly at the palettes in her hands, "I'm nesting." she finally concluded. "It distracted me to the point that I couldn't move on without fixing it, creating real anxiety where none should exist, because I'm nesting."

"Don't worry, ma'am. Sorted by size is _fine_." Paige assured her with a bracing smile, as she brought in the pitcher of orange juice, mound of scrambled eggs, stack of breakfast sausage, pile of french toast, and bowl of fresh fruit. "And I notice you've done the bed for me."

"Do you mind?"

"Not at all." Paige promised her.

"I know I'm not supposed to, but I couldn't just leave it—"

"It's one less thing for me to do today." Paige smiled. "Thank you."

America smiled and hurried over to her new table, where Paige sat the tray for her. "This looks amazing." America smiled down at her mountain of food.

"I take it you're going for a swim?"

"Yes. Perhaps have a warm bath ready for me in a couple of hours?"

"Yes, ma'am." Paige curtsied and disappeared, leaving America to devour her breakfast. As much as there was, she very nearly ate it all, and was left feeling thoroughly satisfied.

* * *

The indoor pool was heated to perfection, and America lounged in perfect silence, still and peaceful, for the full two hours. When she emerged, her back was soothed, her body at-ease, and she was ready for her bath.

Paige dressed her in her comfiest maternity clothes, a pair of amazingly soft black pants and a cream scoop neck shirt, America slipped into a pair of cushy flats, and then she padded down in the direction of the gardens, a guard escorting her at every flight of stairs.

Just before she got to the doors that, once upon a time, she'd nearly fainted in front of before meeting Maxon for the first time, a kitchen maid appeared pushing a trolley of snacks and lemonade. One of those snacks was eggs benedict, so America knew what she was going to be eating next.

"Are you on your way out to the King?" America asked, as the kitchen maid curtsied.

"Yes, ma'am." the maid said, softly. She was young, possibly only sixteen.

"I haven't seen you before, have I?"

"No, ma'am, I'm new."

America wasn't in charge of kitchen hires, that explained the unfamiliar face. "What's your name?"

"Beatrice, ma'am." the girl kept her eyes averted.

"Welcome, Beatrice. It's very nice to meet you. I'll push the cart out to my husband, if it's alright with you."

"Of course ma'am, but are you sure…" Beatrice stopped herself, her large, round eyes falling on America's large, round stomach.

"I can push a cart, I promise." America winked. "It's good practice for pushing strollers, right?"

"Yes, ma'am." Beatrice looked relieved at having her fears assuaged. She curtsied and then turned back in the direction of the kitchens.

America felt a swift sadness bolt through her chest as she watched those uniform black shoes click away. She thought of Esther and the day they'd teamed up to tell Maxon that he was going to be a father. America ran a hand over her stomach and allowed herself a moment to miss her friend, before pushing forward with the cart, squaring her shoulders, and walking past the guards who held the doors to the garden wide open for her.

Even from this distance, America could see what Maxon had been working on all morning. In the sturdy tree across from their special bench, a new structure had been erected in the larger, lower limbs, although parts of it sprawled out to the ground below and beyond.

Maxon appeared from below the thing, and James, Gerad, Carter, and Officer Weaver followed behind him. All of them were in undershirts, despite the distinct chill in the November Angeles air, and all of them were sweating. Maxon wiped his brow with his arm and America's stomach clenched. He was breathtaking like this.

"Hello, Love." Maxon beamed as she approached. "You're not a maid, but you'll do."

"Maxon, what on earth—"

"I may or may not have asked the man who designed our nursery furniture to send over plans for a treehouse."

"A _treehouse_?" America gaped at the structure before her.

"For the baby, and more immediately, for Astra and Kile." Maxon grinned. "For all the Palace children, really."

"But Maxon, a treehouse is… not even a _quarter _of the size of what you've built here."

"Yes… I may have asked for a tree _castle_."

America laughed, "You just couldn't let Aspen outdo you, could you?"

"Never." Maxon agreed. "I wanted it to be large enough for lots of children to play in at the same time. We're planning on having dozens of children, after all, and then there's Kenna and James' babies to consider. Marlee and Carter aren't done yet, and I'm hoping Aspen and Lucy give us a few more Meri's to borrow." Maxon grinned. "I was forced to conclude that a tree castle was the wisest course of action.

"You built it so fast—"

"Ah, yes." Maxon blushed and wrapped an arm around her. "Carter and James are naturals." he gestured to the men now gathered around the snack cart. "We started at dawn, and we're almost done. I, um… read the directions this time. Isn't it beautiful?"

"It's stunning." America agreed.

There was the usual house in the tree, and then there was a wooden staircase leading down to a platform surrounding the tree, which had a ladder and a ramp leading down to a ground-level play area.

"We'll add swings, eventually, and probably a slide, but this is a more than decent start." Maxon grinned.

"I can't believe you did this." America was stunned.

"Do you like it?" he asked, anxiously peering over at her.

She met his eyes, blinked, and then wrapped her arms tightly around him. "I _love _it. It's so wonderful. Maxon, _thank you_ for this."

Maxon grinned, pleased with himself. "This way, we'll get to sit on our favorite bench as we watch the little ones play."

"It's amazing, Maxon. I can't wait." she assured him.

"I figure another half an hour, and it'll be ready for Astra and Kile. They're having a playdate with Marlee and Kenna right now, until we go get them to surprise them with it. You should hang around for that part, I have a feeling it's going to be pretty cute."

"Got your camera?" America asked.

"Always." Maxon smiled, pointing to the shirt he'd abandoned at some point in the morning. It was a casual button up, but it had a front pocket, and that front pocket obviously held his beloved red camera in it.

"Alright. I can stick around, then." She pressed a kiss to his cheek and then hurried over to claim her eggs benedict.

The boys ate quickly and resumed work immediately, adding finishing touches here or there and making sure that there were no nails or screws sticking out dangerously. It was a beautiful piece of construction made even more beautiful by the fact that the men of the Palace had built it by hand. No contractors, not outside crews were involved.

Finally, they gathered by the cart of food and admired their work, deeming it ready for play. Maxon, James, and Carter hurried off to get the kids, and Officer Weaver had another glass of lemonade.

"So," America said, walking up to him to pour herself a glass. "I know why the others are here, helping out. But what are you doing here, building a treehouse with the King on your morning off?" America asked him.

Officer Weaver grinned and rubbed a hand through his sandy hair. "I was there when King Maxon asked Woodwork if he wanted to pitch in. I liked the idea, I like Lady Astra, I want her to have somewhere fun to play… someday, I want my own kids to have use of it."

"They will." America smiled.

"It could be good… or, I guess I mean… _nice _if the royal kids and the guards kids and the maids kids all play and grow together… it might make for a nice future. I'd like to help build some part of that."

America nodded, still thinking this over when Officer Weaver dismissed himself with a little bow, and made to put his outer shirt back on.

America joined Gerad on the bench with her lemonade, sighing with relief when she got her weight off of her feet.

"What do you think of it, Ger?" America asked, nodding over to the treehouse.

"It's good." Gerad said, sweeping the hair out of his eyes. "It's sturdy, too, it'll be here for a long time."

"That's great."

"You think I'm too big to play in it?" Gerad asked, pensively.

"Not if it's that sturdy." America looked over at him, concerned.

"No, I mean, do you think I'm too old? I didn't really get to use the treehouse in Carolina much… I don't know what's normal."

America put an arm around his shoulders and reassured him. "I used the Carolina treehouse until I left for the Selection."

"Yeah…" Gerad seemed uncertain.

"Don't worry about what's normal, Ger. Precious little that happens in this palace is normal. If you want to play here, play here. That's what it's for."

"…I think it might be a nice place to read." he said, thoughtfully.

"A worthy hideout." America nodded.

"Yeah. And I could camp in it in the spring." He smiled.

"Is it better than a tent?"

"Yeah, there's a hole in the ceiling, just like the tree house in Carolina."

"A view of the stars?" America asked, in soft surprise.

"Yeah."

"Maxon did that for Dad. Dad loved the stars."

"Oh." was all Gerad could come up with. America could tell that he sometimes felt awkward about how little he truly remembered their father.

"He'd have loved this. I think he would have built this if he'd had the supplies and the room in our yard."

"…Good." Gerad mumbled.

"Ger… you know he'd be proud of you, right?"

"Why?" Gerad asked, surprised.

"You're kind and you work hard, and you put your family first. You're brave, and well-grounded, and patient with everyone around you… you're _just _like him, Ger. You're his little clone. The rest of us might remember him better, but you understand more of his heart and soul."

"Do you think that means Kota would have hated me?" Gerad asked, thoughtfully.

"What?!" America was stunned by the forthright way he'd asked the question.

"I mean, Kota hated Dad—"

"Kota did _not _hate Dad. Kota resented Dad for a lot of things, but he never hated him, and he never hated you. He loved you."

"We barely spent any time together. How could he have loved me when he barely knew me?"

"He wanted a brother for his whole life, Gerad, he cried when you were born. He adored you, but he adored himself more." She stopped herself before she could say anything else too damaging about their dead brother. "He never could have hated you, Gerad. You were more important to him than any of the rest of us."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"He had a funny way of showing it." Gerad frowned.

"I know." America sighed. They fell silent for a moment.

"I'm not going to be that way." Gerad proclaimed.

"What do you mean?"

"I'm going to make sure that everyone knows how important they are to me. Like Astra, and the baby." he looked at her stomach thoughtfully.

"That's really good, Gerad. That's what you're supposed to do, when you lose someone. You're supposed to try to learn something from it, try to make something out of it."

"Like when your maid died?" Gerad asked.

"…Well, yeah. I'm still not sure what I'm going to make out of it… but she did give us a good clue to help us find the person who killed her. That's a start."

Gerad nodded, and they fell silent. She was worried he'd get bored of her, but he stayed right there with her until Maxon, James, and Carter reappeared with Astra and Kile.

The kids were both blindfolded, riding atop their father's shoulders. Maxon was saying something that was making Astra giggle.

When they'd gone far enough down the path to be even with the treehouse, they stopped, and James and Carter lowered the kids to the ground.

Gerad gave America a hand up, and they hurried over to join everyone else for the big reveal.

James very generously agreed to let Maxon remove Astra's blindfold, so Maxon handed his camera to America, who turned it on and quickly hurried over to get a good angle where she could see Maxon's and Astra's faces in frame.

Finally, Maxon said, "Okay. Ready?"

Astra was practically bouncing and Kile was giggling uncontrollably. "Ready!" They both replied.

"One… Two… Three!" Maxon pulled off Astra's blindfold and Carter pulled off Kile's.

America might have been expecting a moment of shocked silence, similar to the way she felt when she first saw the tree castle. Instead Kile immediately screamed "WOW!" while Astra gasped, audibly and then shouted, "A PLAYGROUND?"

The toddlers were immediately squirming to break free and start exploring, but Maxon and Carter held them firm and said, "Astra, Kile, your daddies, Uncle Gerad, and Mr. Weaver all worked really hard with me so that we could build this for you. Do you have anything to say?"

"It's GIANT!" Kile part-laughed, part-screamed.

James bent down and whispered in Astra's ear, and Astra nodded, "Oh, yeah, Thank you!"

"Thank you!" Kile echoed.

Maxon laughed and planted a loud kiss on Astra's cheek, loud enough to make her laugh. America got a good picture of that moment, on top of the few she'd already snapped, "Alright, you're very welcome. Go play."

It was like the two toddlers had been shot out of twin cannons. They bolted free and took off at a run into the ground level of the play structure, exploring every single nook and cranny. There were cries of, "Follow me!" and "Over here!" and "Wow, look at this!" but Astra ended up leading, for the most part. She was days away from turning four years old, and Kile was still impatiently waiting to turn three, so his legs were shorter and his command of language was less evolved.

"Maxon, this is amazing. Do you know that?" America asked, wrapping an arm around his waist.

"I'm starting to." he replied, unable to tear his eyes away from the tree house as the kids weaved in and out of sight. "There's never been anything like this at the Palace before."

She knew he was thinking of his own dour childhood, so America pressed a kiss to his arm and said, "This is us for the next twenty years. As long as we're having babies and our family is having babies and our friends are having babies, that treehouse is going to be full of laughter and happiness. I mean… _what a metaphor _for the new Illéa that you're building." She thought of what Officer Weaver had said, and knew it was true.

Maxon jolted at this, looking down at her, bewildered. "Is that really what you think?"

America nodded, "It's what we all think."

Maxon smiled at this, and let it sink in as he pressed a kiss to her hair and returned his attention to the treehouse, looking for the future of his country in its sturdy structure and smoothed edges. "If our country was half as happy as the occupants of that treehouse are right now, I'd consider my reign a job well done."

America threaded her fingers through his and squeezed.

It was an hour before Kile and Astra even slowed down to catch their breaths. When it finally happened, it was because Astra tripped over an untied shoelace and scraped her knee. Kile burst into tears at the sight of the scratch, which incited Astra's own crying.

While the other adults had taken to talking amongst themselves, enjoying the warmest part of the day and finishing off the cart of snacks, Maxon never stopped watching those children like a hawk, and therefore he was the first one on the scene of the accident.

He scooped Astra into one arm and Kile into the other and carried them over to the very special bench, where he sat them down and brushed the tears from their cheeks. He asked America to bring them each a cup of lemonade while James brought over the first aid kit that he'd picked up from the hospital wing that morning at Kenna's insistence. She wasn't going to have her husband and baby brother spending all day working with power tools, without having a first aid kit nearby.

America was glad for her older sister's wisdom as she handed each small person an equally small cup of lemonade and they managed to stop screaming just long enough to take tiny sips. Maxon pressed a kiss above the wound on Astra's knees and explained what he was doing, as he cleaned the scrape, in soothing tones using words she could understand.

Astra's tears were enormous, America noticed, for a face so small. She wondered if her baby would be crying massive tears when it was hungry or tired or lonely, come the end of December. Through a trembling lip, and barely containing her sobs, Astra warbled, "Why… K-Kile… Crying?"

"He's worried about you, Pumpkin." Maxon explained. "He's scared that your knee hurts too badly."

Astra wiped her snotty nose with the back of her hand and then placed that hand on top of Kile's, who was now silently crying while his wide, anxious eyes were glued to the tan bandage Maxon had just finished placing on the scrape. Astra licked her lips, pushing her tongue up high enough against her top lip that she probably got a little snot on it, and then she said, "I'm okay, Kile."

Kile didn't seem to believe her.

James reappeared with a napkin from the snack cart, and helped Astra blow her nose before disappearing to dispose of it.

"Maybe you should walk around and show Kile that your knee still works." Maxon suggested.

Astra pondered her bandage, deciding if she was ready for such a monumental step, and then slipped off of the bench. "Look, Kile, I can spin!" and Astra spun around in a circle so quickly that she very nearly fell down again.

Maxon laughed and helped steady her balance, and looked up to find Kile smiling, too, but weakly.

America placed a hand on Maxon's shoulder, "I think it's lunch time. What do you think?"

"Lunch would be nice. We can go and tell your mommies all about the new treehouse." Maxon said, studying the kids' faces.

Astra held up one finger and placed it roughly on Maxon's lips to shush him and then said, "I would like some hotdogs, please."

Maxon laughed, surprised, and leaned back to free his lips. "Hotdogs?"

America was just as surprised, "When's the last time you had a hotdog, Maxon?"

"Years." he marveled. "Not since I was a boy."

"I don't know if the kitchens have hotdog materials." America worried.

Maxon stood upright and slung an arm around her shoulders. "We can order some, have them brought in."

"And _ice cream_, MACKIN!" Astra was cheerfully jumping up and down like her knee was in perfect working order, now that she knew that her beloved Mackin was going to come through on those hot dogs for her.

"And ice cream, America." Maxon nodded, looking over at her.

America rolled her eyes, "Fine. But you had better learn how to get the kids to eat their vegetables _before _this one starts on solid foods." America said, glancing a hand over her belly. "I refuse to become the vegetables police while you become King Ice Cream."

Maxon laughed wheezily at that. "King Ice Cream, I _love _that title, Ames."

* * *

The hotdogs actually were a divine choice, America reflected as she coated hers with dark mustard and devoured it. Kenna fought the good carrot fight with Astra, and likely would have lost if it hadn't been for Maxon.

"Eat your carrots and I'll make you a hotdog." Kenna had told Astra, as Astra's eyes danced happily from one potential topping to the next. The restaurant had been generous when they'd found out it was for the royal family.

"No, Mommy, hotdog first." Astra replied, as if teaching her mother that the sky was blue and the sun was hot.

"Baby, you need to eat your carrots _before _you stuff yourself full of hotdog." Kenna insisted. "Otherwise, you won't have any room left for your vegetables."

"I don't need vegetables, I need hotdog." Astra said, not a drop of hostility to her tone. This was a casual learning lesson for her mother, who clearly did not understand that baby girls need hotdogs more than vegetables. Astra saw this as her opportunity to teach her mother, nothing more.

"Oh, dear." Maxon sighed, from where he sat down the table, next to America. "You see, the ice cream _has _been delivered to the kitchens… it looks to be delicious mint chocolate chip."

"Really?" Astra gasped.

"Mmm." Maxon nodded. "But only people who eat all of their carrots get to have any ice cream."

"Why?" Astra asked, befuddled.

"Well, ice cream doesn't come for free, Astra." Maxon explained. "We have to earn it."

"No." Astra shook her head. She didn't understand.

"You know how, if you're very good, you earn an extra chapter of bedtime story?" Maxon said.

"Yes."

Kenna nodded, catching on, "Or if you don't cry during bath time, you get to play with your toys for an extra fifteen minutes?"

"Yes."

Kenna concluded, "Well, baby, if you eat your carrots, you get to eat ice cream. You will have earned it."

"Oh." Astra wasn't sure she liked this arrangement.

"Hey." Maxon whispered to her as if telling her a secret, and she looked up at him, brightly. "Try dipping the carrots in the ranch dressing." Maxon pointed to the dressing boat that had accompanied the large salad that sat in the middle of the table.

Astra wasn't sure about this, but she asked her mother politely for some dressing to try, anyway. Kenna obliged, and Astra poked a baby carrotstick into the dressing, before crunchily biting into it.

A moment of decision, and then Astra made a loud, pleased 'mmmm' sound and contentedly continued eating her carrots.

Maxon and Kenna shared a relieved look, and Maxon rested his head on America's shoulder. "You're right. Being the vegetables police is hard work."

America smiled and studied his handsome face. "We'll take turns." she promised. He placed a hand on her stomach and spent a few moments massaging it before he placed a kiss on it and returned to his plate.

* * *

The moment lunch was over, Mary was waiting to whisk America off to get ready for the baby shower. Astra and Kile went off for their afternoon naps, and America was almost painfully jealous of them as she resigned herself to the scrubbing and plucking that awaited her.

Gavril was hurrying back and forth between the women's room, where he was getting the photographers set up, and the nursery, where the camera crews were already invading.

_Report _cameras had never been so close to America's bedroom before. She hated it.

"Gavril—" she said, as he walked up to greet her.

"It's a big day, how are you feeling?" Gavril asked, enthusiastically.

"Fine, just—"

"That's great to hear. Now, I want you to enjoy the baby shower, of course, but remember that we're on a tight schedule. I need those photographs off to print by _3:30_. No later."

"I'm fine with a short party, but Gavril—"

"That's when you'll come up and join your sister and King Maxon in decorating the nursery. I see that you and the King took my advice and you've acquired some very handsome furniture, that's good. It will look great on camera, don't worry about a thing."

"Gavril?"

"Yes, your Majesty?"

Now that she had the chance to get a word in edgewise, she wasn't sure what to say. "Just… keep _them_ out of our bedrooms…" She eyed the crew unhappily. "When we moved the nursery, I didn't realize what an invasion of privacy it would be—"

Gavril's entire demeanor shifted as he took a break from his obscenely busy day to take in America's expression and tone. She was so worried. "I will look out for you, your Majesty. I give you my oath." he reassured her.

America nodded bravely, but then winced as another three people came barging through the doors, into the private family room, bearing a camera and several long chords.

Gavril looked around, thinking quickly, and then called out in the authoritative voice he used to command his subordinates. "Stop!"

The whole room froze. Even Maxon, sitting on the couch and removing the shoes he'd worn all morning while building the tree castle, froze.

"Out!" Gavril yelled. A pause, a moment of confusion. "Get out, all of you." He repeated, and the crew immediately began packing up and trickling out.

"Gavril, what are you doing?" America whispered, urgently. "The segment—"

Gavril merely shook his head and rubbed his chin, thoughtfully. "Miles." he called out, and a man on his way out the door froze and turned back. "Two hand recorders and Mister Gerad Singer, please."

"Yes, Mr. Fadaye." the man nodded and hurried away.

"I'm making the presumption that your younger brother doesn't have any better plans this afternoon?" Gavril asked.

"I don't… Gavril what is happening?" America asked.

"A change of plans. Instead of _Report _cameras and crew, it will just be myself and your brother with small personal video recorders. The quality of the image will be sufficient, and I'll hang an aerial microphone to improve the audio. It will have the charm and intimacy of a home movie, but the quality needed for broadcast. And best of all, no parade of strangers charging through your nest this close to the birth of your baby."

It was too good to be true. "Are you sure that will be good enough, Gavril?"

"More than good enough, you'll see." Gavril patted her cheek fondly. "Now, hurry off, your Majesty. Your baby shower begins in half an hour and we simply do not have the time for you to be late."

America nodded and turned, but before she walked away she turned back and said, softly, "Thank you."

Gavril smiled and shooed her again. This time she went.

The women's room was full of happy, excited faces. The moment America was in her long, burgundy, floral dress and golden sandals, Mary ushered her to the party to find the room brimming with chatter, laughter, and gifts.

Looking from left to right, America saw her mother, Kenna, Marlee, Astra and Kile eyeing the cupcakes, May, Lucy with baby Meri, Paige, Elise, Kriss, Maxon's Aunt Adele, and Silvia, who had been tasked with running the show in Gavril's absence. There hadn't been this many people in the women's room since Maxon's Selection, America was certain of that.

She took her time greeting every single guest, pausing to linger a little longer with Lucy.

"Why is she getting so big?" America found herself crying at the sight of baby Meri, who had transitioned from the newborn stage and was encroaching quickly on six months old.

Lucy chuckled and pressed a kiss to America's forehead. "That's her job, America, that's what she's supposed to do."

"Does she have to do it so fast?" America sniffled, burying her nose in the crook of Meri's neck and inhaling the scent of baby shampoo and baby powder.

Lucy patted America's arm, bracingly. "I know. But don't worry, you're making our replacement baby. We'll have a new newborn to cuddle with in no time."

America nodded and forced her hormones into submission as she kissed Lucy's cheek and continued on her way, greeting everyone. She could have spent the entire day with Adele, who was asking all kinds of questions about how America was coping with these last few weeks of pregnancy and full of all sorts of helpful suggestions on how to make things better, but Silvia pressed them on. They posed in front of a tapestry with America seated in the front row, center, surrounded by her sisters, and then the rest of the royal family, with the other guests standing in the back. Kile and Astra got to sit on the floor at America's feet, which made them feel very special, and Kile was getting extra attention as the only boy in the room. Even Gavril's official photographers were women.

Once the party guests were all posed, the photographers began clicking, and they didn't stop for a full three minutes. Finally, the middle one lowered her camera and the others followed suit. Silvia ushered the guests to a long table that had been set up on the far side of the room by the windows, to allow some natural light in.

They sat in a similar formation to the one they'd posed in for the photographs, but May hurried off to help Maxon in the nursery. She kissed America on the cheek, promised to see her later, and departed. Magda filled the open space at America's right.

"You know," Magda smiled, as the attendant maids came in to serve the cake, "You were born two and a half weeks late."

America winced at the thought, "Did you say that just to punish me for it?"

"Of course not. It's funny, looking back on it now. That's all I meant. Someday you'll look back on your third trimester and laugh, and it will all make sense, with your baby's personality." Magda assured her.

"Will it?"

"You'll make it make sense. For example, _you_ never do anything until you're good and ready, by which I'm including your decision to enter Maxon's Selection, and your reluctance to fall in love with him. And it can be traced all the way back to the midwife reminding me that third babies are born early and fast, and your being two and a half weeks late, and my being in labor with you for 27 hours."

America thanked the maid who served her slice to her and couldn't stop herself from checking on her own maids and former maids enjoying the party. Lucy, Mary, and Paige were seated together, gossiping and laughing like sisters, passing Meri between them. She nibbled on her own slice of cake and tried to focus on her mother's unsolicited advice as she said, "How long were you in labor with Kenna?"

"Hm?" Kenna looked over from where she'd been situating Astra with a slice of cake.

"I was in labor with Kenna for 35 hours." Magda reminisced. "But the first 24 were early, manageable pains. Only the last 15 were hard labor, and only the last six hours were pushing."

America lowered her fork to her plate with a clank, and she could feel the blood fall out of her face. "You were in hard labor for _fifteen hours_?"

"First babies take time, but don't you worry. You'll have the best care in all of Illéa, you'll be fine." Magda touched a hand to her shoulder. "And it was worth it, wasn't it?" she added, as an afterthought, smiling over at Kenna, who grinned back as she shuffled Astra in her lap.

"Yes." America agreed. "Well worth it."

"If it makes you feel any better, Ames, Astra was born in eighteen hours." Kenna said, stealing her own bite of cake.

"Really?" America perked up. Eighteen didn't sound so bad. Even if only eight of that was made up of hard labor pains, that sounded survivable.

"Yeah. I was at work when the contractions started, the midwife thought that might have been why my labor progressed so quickly. I was up and walking around the factory. I came home, and a couple of hours later the pain got worse, we called the midwife, and by morning I had this little bundle in my arms." Kenna grinned down at her icing coated daughter.

America shuddered and put both of her hands protectively over her belly. "You're both going to give me sympathy labor, we need to stop this conversation."

Kenna laughed and agreed, and Magda chewed thoughtfully, and then said, "_Have_ you been having any contractions, dear?"

"Not yet, but Dr. Ashlar warned me." America reassured her. She knew she'd have a few ghost contractions before the real deal.

"Good. The pre-labor contractions might be stronger than you're expecting, the closer you get to the end of December." Magda said. "But as long as they're not coming in any kind of pattern, you're fine."

"Right. Maybe by this time next month, I'll have some pre-contractions to report. It's still early." America said, thinking about this time next month. It was November 11th. Exactly four weeks left until the amendment either succeeded or failed. She returned her focus to giving the best performance possible for the cameras, hoping that her commitment would eek an extra percentage point out of the publicity stunt.

By far, the gift portion of the shower took the longest to complete. Thanks to her third trimester hormones, America could not stop crying as thoughtful, meaningful gift after thoughtful, meaningful gift was revealed. The one that shut the photographs down for a solid five minutes was the baby blanket Lucy had brought. She and Lena Leger had hand-stitched the downy-soft, puffy white blanket embroidered with what was clearly a colorful, cartoon outline of the house in Carolina (complete with treehouse).

Each time the photographs had to stop because America was crying too much, Astra was always on hand with a tissue, and she spoke words so adorable that America was soon laughing again, with dry eyes and cheeks.

The last box was unwrapped (a beautiful, leather-bound collection of nursery stories from Kriss), and about a hundred more photographs were posed for and taken, and then Silvia was insisting that the party could continue, but the Queen needed to change clothes and join her husband in decorating the nursery.

America bid goodbye to everyone individually, just as she had greeted them, totally ignoring Silvia's tapping foot and annoyed looks at her watch. Then Mary was back on-duty, chauffeuring her upstairs and hurrying to ready America's more casual, nursery-decorating clothes.

America could smell the paint from the family room, and called out, "Maxon?" as she knocked on the door.

Maxon appeared, sparkling yellow paint on his cheeks and exposed forearms, the sleeves of his cotton button-up having been rolled up to accommodate the painting he was obviously doing. "You can't come in quite yet, May's putting on the finishing touches." Maxon grinned.

"No, I know, I'm getting dressed." America reassured him. "I just wanted to ask how things are going."

"Magnificently. You're going to love it, Ames." he kissed her cheek, and she felt the caked, dried paint scratch her skin. "Ten more minutes, and you can see it."

"Alright then." America smiled and Maxon made sure she was turned toward her room, so that she couldn't peek at their work, before slipping back into the nursery.

America was exhausted, she'd missed all three of her usual nap times, but she also couldn't wait for this last part of her day. It was bound to be the best. Mary helped her out of her dress and stockings and back into her most comfortable pregnancy clothes, tied her hair up in an attractive knot, and then curtsied her way out the door to help Paige finish bringing the baby shower gifts up to the nursery.

America knocked again on the closed door behind which her husband, her brother, her sister, and Gavril were doing mysterious things.

"Is that you, Ames?" Maxon called.

"Yes."

"Alright. Don't move."

When Maxon appeared, he had the same blindfold he'd used on Astra in his hands. "Are you ready?"

"I think so." America giggled as Maxon tied the soft cloth over her eyes and ushered her carefully and attentively into the nursery.

It smelled strongly of paint in there, although this was no real indication of what they'd done with the place because she'd already seen paint on Maxon's skin.

"Okay!" May's voice said. "Head up, Ames."

America lifted her face towards the ceiling.

"One…" Maxon said.

"Two…" May said.

"Three…" the both said, and the blindfold was tugged away.

The plain, freshly painted cream-colored ceiling of yesterday was now a pale, cornflower blue. Strewn across it in large and small configurations, an ocean of swirly, glittering stars. Not five-point stars, as America used to draw them when she was still trying to determine what her art would become, but beautiful, celestial swirls of stars, somehow multi-dimensional as though some where closer and some farther away.

"May…" America finally gasped, lowering her eyes to her paint-covered sister. This time she was crying, but she didn't think it had to do with hormones. This time it was because of how much their father would have _loved _those stars.

May seemed to read her mind and hurry over to hug her tightly. Gavril kept the camera rolling, very quietly in the corner as Gerad set his camera down and joined them in a group hug.

Maxon turned off the light, and the swirls above glowed and glittered magnificently. "It's what Dad would have done." May said as the three Singer kids looked up.

"How long did it take you?" America asked, amazed at the art that had come from her baby sister's imagination and emerged from her young hands.

"Not long at all! I had a crew come in and paint the ceiling this morning, while you were swimming. It was quick-dry so I sketched the stars on while you were at lunch. All I had to do was slap some of this glow-in-the-dark paint on it, and then texture it with the gold glitter, and it was done."

"It's beautiful, May." America said. "Just amazing."

"I came up with the idea for the design of the stars from your maid, Esther."

"What?" America asked, surprised.

"The way she painted you for Halloween, the beautiful swirling designs when you were the sun. You can see them up there, can't you?" May asked, a little anxiously. As if, for the first time in her life, her intention in one of her works of art might not have been clear.

"…I see it." America reassured her, breathlessly. "It's stunning… I'm overwhelmed." America felt like she was drowning in gratitude and grief, and Maxon caught on quickly.

"Well," he said, switching the light back on and puffing up his chest, "I saw to that trim along the walls."

High on the walls, just below the blue ceiling, there was a trim of dark green, intricate vines with tiny budding leafs on them.

"Maxon, you did that?" America asked, amazed.

"Yes." he said, proudly, before adding, "Well… I _did _paint it… but it was a stencil May made."

"Ah. Hard to mess up a stencil." America laughed.

"Not as hard as one would think, I had a little difficulty, but it's done and drying now." Maxon beamed proudly.

"Good job, Maxon." America grinned over at him, though her arms were still around her siblings.

"So, all we have to do now is hang a few frames and move in the loot from the baby shower, and we're ready." Maxon said, enthusiastically.

Maxon had chosen a few special photographs of the family, including a copy of the photograph of America and Amberly together, to go on the wall above the crib in artful, interesting arrangements. This was his version of the stars, and he was magnificent at it.

Gerad returned to filming, and May took a break in Amberly's rocking chair, watching Maxon and America work.

Halfway through, America paused and grimaced, placing both hands on her stomach. The baby was moving in a way that was making her uncomfortable, but it wasn't kicking or squirming.

"Love, is something wrong?" Maxon asked.

"No, nothing's wrong." America reassured him, still distracted. She continued to focus inward, on her little womb-invader, until she finally puzzled out what it was doing. "Maxon, I think the baby is moving."

Maxon smiled at this, but did not seem impressed. After all, their baby never seemed to stop moving. He continued hanging photographs in their chic frames, undisturbed. "That's good."

"No, Maxon… the baby is _moving._ Moving _position_. Its head is over here." America said, rubbing the side of her stomach. "It's not at the top anymore."

Maxon realized what this meant, "The baby is moving into birthing position? It's not going to be breach?"

America felt a kick on the side of her stomach, an unusual sensation that made her grin, "Nope. Dr. Ashlar said this would be happening soon. The baby is currently horizontal in there." she chuckled.

Maxon laughed with relief and set aside his work, then he knelt before her, awed. He pressed his hands where hers were and gently prodded until he felt out where the baby was. "That's amazing." he grinned.

With both cameras rolling, and May looking on in a positively lovestruck way, Maxon leant forward and pressed a series of kisses to her belly, feeling the movements of the baby against his lips.

America grinned down at him and then offered him both of her hands up as he stood and gave his next kiss to her lips.

An hour later, the photographs were hung, as well as the gorgeous but unfinished portrait of America as Queen that Shalom Singer had been working on before his death. The books, clothes, toys, and the baby blanket from the shower were all moved into their new homes in the nursery, and Gavril was wrapping up a final tour of the finished room for the _Report _special.

Maxon and America were both practically asleep on their feet as they hugged May and Gerad goodnight and Gavril commended them on an _excellent_ shoot.

Finally, they were alone in the nursery. Maxon looked around and made a satisfied sound, snaking his arms around America's back to rest on her stomach.

"This is perfect. This is exactly what I had in mind." he said softly in her ear.

"We need a few more things, but I'm not panicking anymore." America smiled. "Not like last week."

"Last week we didn't have any of this stuff. Last week, we didn't even have a room." Maxon reminded her. He pressed a kiss to her neck and said, "So, when are you having my baby?"

"After we get that amendment ratified." she reminded him.

Maxon tightened his arms around her in a soothing embrace and murmured, "It won't be long now…"


	49. Chapter 49

"Are those the new prints?" America asked, eyeing the small bundle in Maxon's hands that he seemed to be worrying over. She was curled up in bed with an agriculture report on the fall harvests, her glasses perched on the tip of her nose in a way that always made Maxon smile.

He was finally in from a late, after-dinner meeting, and clutching the papers in his hands like they were precious.

"I only took a couple of them." Maxon said, delicately setting his burden aside so that he could quickly strip down and change into his pajamas. It was officially chilly enough to merit pajama bottoms as well as pajama shirts, America lamented as his gorgeously defined chest disappeared beneath a long-sleeved navy silk top.

"So, if only a couple of those are photographs _you_ took, what are the others?" America asked, setting aside the report and her glasses, then pushing herself a little more upright and giving him her full attention.

"Gifts from Gavril." Maxon smiled warmly, re-taking the photograph prints and joining her in bed. "He extracted a few choice stills from the video taken while we were decorating, and he made special copies of some of the best photographs taken at the baby shower." He showed her, his expression full of wonder and excitement. "A candid of you and Aunt Adele. The group picture from the shower. You and Kriss laughing. You kissing our goddaughter on the forehead." he flipped to the next picture and these were from the nursery. "You, May, and Gerad looking up at the stars. You and me, laughing about something while we were hanging the photographs. Me, kissing your belly. You're in perfect profile for this one, it's a brilliant angle. It's going on my desk." Maxon grinned at the image of his lips pressed to her round stomach. "And these three, that you took at the treehouse." There was an image of Kile and Astra the moment they were un-blindfolded, the look of wonder covering their faces. There was one where Astra turned that look of wonder to Maxon, who was looking back at her with complete adoration. And then there was the one of Maxon pressing a kiss to Astra's cheek. "One of those is going in my office, too." Maxon grinned.

"By the time this baby is ready to take that office over for you, it's going to be covered in photographs from floor to ceiling." America complained, but she was actually entirely enamored with the idea.

"That's the plan." Maxon agreed, pressing a kiss to her lips and then setting the photographs very carefully aside.

America turned her lamp off first, but Maxon was still settling in. He usually liked to ask her about her day and listen to her talk for a little bit, it helped him unwind from late night meetings. America closed her eyes and waited for him to decide what they'd talk about that night.

"You're on maternity leave, my dear, you're not supposed to be worrying over reports. At least not this late at night." he remarked.

"Did you just... did you just call me 'your dear'?" America asked, surprised.

"I did." Maxon seemed smug rather than his usual repentant self.

"Maxon," she said, in a warning tone. "Am I some common Palace visitor, to you?"

"By no means, my dear."

"Stop."

"Why?"

"Because I'm _not_ your dear, half the maids on staff are your dears, I'm your wife and you will recognize my roll in your life by calling me something different, something special-"

"I had an interesting conversation with Marlee at Halloween." Maxon sighed, contentedly, not the least bit concerned. "With everything that happened after the party, it slipped my mind, but I saw her at lunch today, and it reminded me."

"An interesting conversation?" America asked, arms folded over her stomach as she glared at him.

"Apparently, you and she have discussed the rebel attack that ended my Selection, rather at length."

"I thought our engagement ended your Selection." America said, sharply. She hadn't spoken about that attack with Marlee in ages. More than a year, at least.

"Well, I was talking with her at Halloween, and in our conversation, I called you 'my dear', and she laughed. She rather likes the story of our first meeting, you know."

"Maxon, get to the point, please?"

"According to Marlee, you made a certain deal while I lay dying."

"What?"

"A deal. That if I lived, certain areas of my vocabulary would be freed up from your iron clutches."

"Maxon, what-"

"You told Marlee that you promised that I could call you 'my dear'."

"I would never..." America stopped, remembering the moment he was talking about. "Oh."

"Ahah! You've been unrightfully denying me my hard-earned right to 'dear' you for three long years, America."

America felt tears sting her eyes, and her hand flew up to cover her mouth, "Oh."

"...Ames..." Maxon faltered, and then leant over to examine. "I was joking... I mean, I _will_ be calling you 'my dear' from time to time, but I've come to much prefer 'my love', as well."

"No. You're..." America swallowed, hard, and tears spilled onto her cheeks. "I'm sorry, I'm reliving that memory very vividly."

"You are?" Maxon asked, worried.

" Just give me a moment." America inhaled deeply, and then attempted to explain, "You remember that time vaguely, like a dream, because of your blood loss. But I remember every individual second."

"Ames, I thought you'd laugh. Honestly. I'm so sorry."

"Please don't apologize, I'm just feeling very _pregnant _right now." America smiled and accepted the arms he offered her, hugging him tightly. "Hormones. I can't just _remember_ making that deal, I have to re-feel it, too." she sniffled, working to regain control of her tears. "Don't take it personally, this afternoon I was positively weeping over a button that had popped off of my maternity coat. It's just one of those things."

Maxon grumbled inaudibly, something about how displeased he was with the hormones distressing his wife so greatly, then he pressed a string of kisses to her hair. "Would you like to talk about something else? Would that help?"

"You _can_ call me your dear, Maxon. You definitely earned that by surviving."

"Not while you're pregnant, I won't." he mused.

"When I'm back to normal, then." America said. "It's fine. Just... don't ever stop calling me your 'love', either. I worked hard for that title, too."

"Yes, you did." he agreed. He reached all the way out and, with the tips of his fingers, freed a tissue from his nightstand and offered it to her. She matched her breathing with his, blew her nose, and then sighed.

"So, Marlee ratted on me, huh?" America pretended to complain, with a wet laugh.

Maxon chuckled and buried his nose in her hair. "Yeah, you should sentence her to a night in the stocks for that."

"I could."

"You certainly could."

"Do we have stocks?"

"We could have some built pretty easily."

"I suppose so. That crib looked like a set of stocks, at one point in your misguided construction attempts." America laughed.

"Shut up." Maxon grumbled, not the least bit perturbed. "Tell me about your day."

"Well, I reorganized the shelves in the nursery five times -"

"Did you?"

"Our stock of diapers, creams, oils, and soaps arrived, and it needed to be dealt with."

"Ah."

"It needed to be dealt with five times."

"And is it dealt with now?"

America winced. "I might need to take another pass at it tomorrow. And I might need to buy some baskets and organizational contraptions to help me."

"That's what you have assistants for, I don't want you leaving the Palace right now. You and Dr. Ashlar have an imaginary tether binding the two of you to stay within a certain radius of each other until the baby is born."

"Perhaps Dr. Ashlar will want to go shopping with me?" America suggested, facetiously.

"I doubt it. But Paige always likes making trips into the city, doesn't she?"

America nodded, "Fine. I'll stay put."

"Good."

There was a loud knock at their door and then it creaked open to reveal Avery standing outside.

America and Maxon expected him to explain the intrusion, not just into the family room, but into America's bedroom as well, but Avery didn't speak. Instead, a tiny redhead stepped forward, thumb firmly in her mouth, cheeks stained with tear streaks.

"Astra, what's the matter?" Maxon asked, releasing one of his arms from America and holding it out. Astra's feet pounded against the carpet as she ran over and struggled to climb into the big bed.

She tried and failed once, before heaving herself up again. She would have made it on her own eventually, but Maxon took pity and pulled her up and to his side. America made room on his chest and Astra cuddled in immediately.

America stroked Astra's cheeks, wiping away the wetness. "What happened, baby girl?" America asked.

Astra popped her thumb out of her mouth and said, "I was havin bad dreams, Aunt Ames."

"Oh, no." Maxon pressed a kiss to Astra's hair. "Why didn't you tell your mommy or daddy?"

"They sleepin." Astra whimpered. "I can stay with you, Mackin?"

Maxon met America's eyes, got her consent, and then smiled warmly. "Of course you can. But you have to try to go back to sleep."

Astra was reluctant, if the noise she made was any indication.

"Avery," America said, acknowledging the guard who had yet to be dismissed. "Please wake Kenna briefly and tell her that we have her daughter for the night."

"Yes, ma'am." Avery bowed and closed the door behind him.

"Did Officer Avery help you?" Maxon asked.

"Yeah, I was stuck." Astra admitted.

"The doorknobs are still too big for your hands, aren't they?" Maxon sympathized.

"Yeah." Astra lolled her head on his chest and, as was her habit, gripped his shirt tightly in her little fist. With her other hand, she rubbed her eye, hard, but a tear still managed to escape.

"Was it a sad dream?" Maxon asked.

"No, scary! There was a bad guy!" Astra explained.

"I see. Well, I'm here. Your mommy and daddy are right next door and Officer Avery is in the hallway. You are safe from bad guys." Maxon promised.

"I think Maxon should tell us a story to help us fall asleep, what do you think?" America suggested.

"Oh, yes, please, a very happy story." Astra pleaded.

"A very happy story." Maxon mused. "Alright."

"With princesses." Astra clarified.

"Okay."

"And pony." she added.

"A pony." Maxon confirmed.

"Ice cream." she said.

"Anything else?" Maxon laughed.

Astra paused and considered, then, as if coming to a weighty determination, announced, "Glitter."

"Alright, then." Maxon smiled. "Close your eyes and I'll start."

America and Astra both complied. "Once upon a time..." Maxon began, a touch of uncertainty in his voice, "There were three princesses... um... who lived in a castle covered in glitter."

"Pink glitter." Astra whispered, awestricken by the thought. Maxon shushed her, chuckled, then continued, "The princesses were sisters, and they had a pony that they rode around the grounds of the pink glitter castle... In fact... The pony was a unicorn."

Maxon paused and checked Astra's reaction to this bit of improvisation, and she was smiling with her eyes closed, so clearly it had been accepted. America peeked and eye open, met his gaze, and mouthed "Good job."

Maxon grinned, and continued, "Then, when the princesses were done riding their unicorn for the evening, they went back into the pink glitter castle and ate ice cream for dinner. The end."

He checked Astra. She sighed sleepily on his chest and murmured, "That was real good."

Maxon smiled, pleased with himself, and then kissed each redhead on his chest before settling in. It didn't take long for Astra's breathing to even out, now that all scary thoughts were banished by her own, custom-tailored fairytale produced by Maxon. America and Maxon stayed awake a little longer, but their eyes remained closed and they communicated mostly through Maxon's thumb gently caressing America's ribcage, and America using her finger to doodle lazily on the last free patch of Maxon's chest. These little touches took place through a barrier of clothing for each of them, but that didn't prevent them from being meaningful. This moment left them feeling closer together than ever before, completely intimate but not the least bit sexual. It was one of those surprising moments where, as impossible as it seemed, they found that they loved each other even more deeply than they had before.

It gave America hope that their baby wouldn't become a strain on their marriage, that it would actually provide them with opportunities like Astra had just done, opportunities to fall more and more in love and to grow stronger and stronger as a couple. She knew there would be plenty of challenges along the way, but this moment gave her the confidence that she and Maxon would always come out the other side, together.

Of course, she hadn't been expecting their next challenge to emerge quite so immediately.

It was hard to tell how long she'd been drifting when it happened. She and Maxon were both breathing deeply, perfectly matched in the rises and falls of their chest, even though she'd had to roll off of him and arrange the pillows around her to help ease the burden of the baby weight. She was on the cusp of dreaming, probably about something very nice, when the still, calm, peaceful silence was rent to shreds by an ear-shattering siren.

"What?!" Astra's voice was terrified as she bolted upright and pressed her hands, hard, to her ears.

"Sit here, Astra, I'll explain in a moment." Maxon jumped out of bed and hurried over to grab America's robe from where it was hanging by the bed. America was halfway out of bed by the time he got to her, and he pulled her the rest of the way up before holding the robe out for her to slip into.

He put his own robe on while America tied hers up and found a pair of slippers, and Maxon scooped Astra out of bed, perched her on his hip, and escorted America with his free hand on her lower back toward the entrance to the safe room.

"We're going to sleep on the cots, Astra, remember the cots?" Maxon asked, only paying half of his attention to her. He was on alert, looking everywhere for threats.

"Yeah." she whimpered, hands abandoning her ears and wrapping her arms tightly around his neck.

America peered down the narrow, hidden staircase, nervously. She couldn't afford to make the same mistake she'd made last spring, she couldn't fall down the stairs. "Maxon, you go first."

"No!" he insisted.

"I'm going to be slow, but I've got railings on both sides to help me, I can do it. You and Astra go down first, I'll be behind soon."

"I'm not leaving you here, America."

"Maxon." America took a moment to meet his eyes with hers. "You can't help me, the steps are too narrow. I can do it on my own, I just need a few extra moments. Get Astra to safety, and then you can walk me down the last few stairs."

"… Fine." Maxon frowned, and then he and Astra bolted down the first flight on their way to what was supposed to be safety.

It was _supposed_ to be safety.

Thanks to her pregnancy, America smelled it about five seconds before she realized what was happening. She had one hand on the lower side of her belly, supporting it, the other grasping the railing of the stairs as she eased her way down, and she was almost to the bottom of the first fight, when it happened.

A guard that America could not see, and could not identify by voice, called out to Maxon, who had already carried Astra down three flights of stairs.

"Your Majesty, turn back!" The guard's voice called.

"Why?" Maxon demanded.

"A fire in the safe room, sir, the entire subbasement level of the Palace is structurally unsound."

That's when America realized she was smelling smoke.

"A fire?!" Maxon was angry. "How?"

"Sir, turn back, we need to extinguish the flames before we can determine the cause."

"The rebel alarm has been sounded, Officer—"

Just then, Carter Woodwork entered from the second floor landing. He heard Maxon's voice and called out, "Your Majesty?" before hurrying down to join Maxon.

America continued to descend as quickly as she could, to join Carter and Maxon. She still had two flights to go.

"Woodwork—"

"Sir, the safe room is compromised, we need to evacuate—"

"What's the protocol?" Maxon asked. This had never happened to him before. That was more disturbing to America than the fire, itself.

"There's a bunker in the woods, just past Palace grounds."

"Get the royal family there, immediately."

"Sir?" Carter asked. He didn't understand why Maxon wouldn't be going, too.

"I need to stay in the Palace so that, the moment the rebel threat is contained, I can get to work. I don't have time to hike back from the forrest. I need to be here, to lead."

America's heart was thundering in her chest, almost unbearably so. Between the adrenaline, the calisthenics, and the added cardiac workload from the baby, she was struggling just to keep breath in her lungs.

Carter was talking into his communication device, ordering the royal family to be rounded up and escorted to the bunker in the woods.

"Your Majesty!" The guard that America now recognized by face, though not by name, as he wasn't part of her family's protection unit, bowed at the sight of her rounding the corner and making her way down the last flight of stairs.

"The woods?" America asked Maxon.

Maxon nodded, grimly.

"Sir, we need to secure you, as well." Carter said.

"Another safe room?" Maxon suggested.

"And if the fire can't be contained? You'll burn alive." Carter refuted.

Astra cried out at this, clawing her hands into Maxon's shoulders, for how tightly she was gripping him.

"The library is fireproof." America managed, through gasps of air. There _was _less oxygen down here, she could feel it. She couldn't feel the heat from the fire, but she could tell it was eating up her oxygen.

"I'll be perfectly safe in the library." Maxon agreed.

"With guards." Carter allowed.

"I want the family out." Maxon repeated, and he turned to America as she finally made it to the first floor entrance. "Love, will you be alright?"

"I'll be fine." America promised. "The baby will be fine, too."

"Astra," Maxon said, pressing a kiss to her temple. "I know you're scared, but you're going to be okay. Mr. Carter is going to take you to a very safe room, outside in the forrest, okay?"

"A room in the forrest?" Astra parroted, not understanding.

"Aunt Ames is going to go with you, and I'm going to stay here and keep the Palace safe."

"No, I want to stay."

"I know, Pumpkin, but I need you to do me a big favor."

"Big?"

"I need you to stay with Aunt Ames and keep the baby safe for me. Can you do that? Please?"

"I don't…" Astra faltered.

Carter interrupted, "Sir, the rebels."

"I know." Maxon snapped, and returned his attention to Astra. "If you help keep the baby safe, I promise we'll have waffles for breakfast in the morning. You can sit in my lap the whole time, and eat as much as you want. But I need you to be brave and help me take care of your Aunt and your baby cousin, okay?"

Astra wiped her eyes, terrified, but she managed, "Okay, Mackin."

"Thank you, Pumpkin. I love you so much."

"I love you, too."

"Now you and Aunt Ames are going to the very safe room, and your Mommy and Daddy will be there, too, okay?"

"Okay."

Maxon handed Astra over to America, and America took a moment to position the trembling little girl on her hip. "Ames, can you carry her?"

"Of course I can."America reassured him. Carter might have volunteered, but he needed his hands free in case they ran into trouble. And anyway, America needed practice juggling small children while being pregnant with more. "We're going to be fine. Be careful, Maxon."

There was a loud sound, almost like a small explosion, that rumbled up from the levels below them.

"Carter!" America said, realizing. "If it's not too dangerous, Marlee and Kile can join us."

"Thank you, but they're safer staying put." Carter replied, genuinely grateful.

"Well, I want Dr. Ashlar out there to examine America when she gets to the bunker, no matter how dangerous it is." Maxon said.

"Yes, sir."

Maxon leant in and kissed America firmly on the lips. "Stay safe. I'll see you soon."

"You, too." America said, sincerely.

"I love you, Ames."

"I love you, Maxon."

Carter finished relaying the orders for the additional bunker occupants to make their way to the woods, including the doctor, and then he waved America on.

Maxon and the other guard took off up the stairs in the direction of the fireproof library, but Carter led America out of the stairwell and into the dark, foreboding Palace, on their way towards the gardens.

"Mackin okay?" Astra whispered, clinging to America so tightly, she barely had to hold the girl up.

"Maxon's going to be just fine."

"There bad guys?"

"Just a few." America said, listening to the echoes of Carter's uniform boots on the floor. Her feet were padded with house shoes, so she wasn't making any sounds. It was a wholly unsettling thing for the Palace to be so still, so devoid of life. "We have a whole lot of good guys, though, and they're going to help us." America explained.

"Baby okay?" Astra asked, remembering her promise to Maxon.

"Baby's doing great, probably still sleeping." America said, though she wished it would give a kick or a squirm, _something _to let her know that everything was alright in there. She didn't like her baby to be so still on a night like this.

Astra tucked her head into the crook of America's neck, and America could feel Astra's quickened breaths puffing against her collarbone.

"Wait here." Carter commanded, and America froze. He dashed forward, hand on his weapon, checking the open area in front of the door to the gardens. America pressed her back to the wall so that, at the very least, she could see a rebel coming.

"Clear." Carter waved her on. From a couple of hallways over, they heard a skirmish and a weapon discharge. The shot echoed out, and seemed almost to shake America to her very bones. "_Now, _your Majesty!" Carter whispered loudly, reminding America that they had a task to complete.

Who had fired that shot? Who had been on the receiving end of that bullet? Was it one of her family? Was it one of her personal guard? Was it _Aspen_? Was it _Maxon?_

America was nowhere near as fast now as she had been during the Selection. She'd once bolted off into these very woods, intent on escaping rebels, and she'd managed to outrun them long enough to get good and lost. Now, things were different. She sat behind a desk all day, she had a terrified child on her hip, and she was nearly nine months pregnant. She had no hope of outrunning anything.

Carter seemed to be arriving at this conclusion, too, as he led the way off of the path and into the shadows. This way would take a little longer, and America's footing wouldn't be as sure, but ultimately it would be safer to be invisible on a night like this.

Astra peeked up as they hurried past the treehouse, as if maybe she'd been hoping that _that _was the very safe room in the forrest Maxon had spoken of.

"Would you like to play at the castle, later?" America whispered softly, hoping to distract her a little.

"I want my mommy."

"We're on our way to her right now, baby girl." America promised.

"I'm scared." Astra shuddered, her voice coming out in an uncontrollable, loud, high pitch.

"Hush." America shushed her, softly. "It's okay to be scared. Scared is okay. I'm scared, too."

"No, you brave." Astra corrected her.

America readjusted Astra on her hip and studied the girl's face as they hurried on towards the forrest, and the protective cover of the trees. More places for her to hide. More places for rebels to hide.

"Brave _is _being scared, Astra. Brave is being scared, and then being strong anyway. _You _are very brave, do you know how I know?"

"How?" Astra whispered.

"Because I know you were very scared to let Uncle Maxon go. But you came with me to protect me, anyway. Being scared didn't stop you from helping Uncle Maxon, and doing what he asked you to do. That's very, _very _brave."

Astra puzzled this over as America and Carter hurried past the forrest's edge and into the woods beyond. "I can walk." Astra volunteered, as if to test her new bravery.

America frowned, eyes darting everywhere, looking for a threat. "Um… I appreciate that, baby girl, but I don't want to get separated from you out here in the woods." This was true, but it was also very true that, if a threat emerged, America wanted to be able to use her body to shield Astra as much as possible, and that would be easier to do in a split-second if Astra was already in her arms.

"Okay." Astra seemed relieved that she'd get to hang on to America for a little longer.

"Are we nearly there, Carter?" America asked, not wanting to let on how much this excursion was costing her, physically.

"Nearly, your Majesty." Carter confirmed.

"You don't think you could call me 'America', just while we're running for our lives?" America tried to quip, but her breath was coming so ragged that the effect was lost.

"Not this time, ma'am." Carter replied.

They fell into silence again. "I... Carter..." America's heart felt like it was going to burst through her chest, and it was skipping beats here or there which was a terrible feeling.

Carter paused and finally looked at her face. He easily read the distress there. "There's a clearing up ahead, the bunker is on the far side. We're a minute away from safety. Can you make it?"

America took advantage of the stand-still to catch a deep breath, then she jostled Astra higher on her hip. "Yes, let's go."

Carter's entire posture reflected relief as he charged ahead. It took all of America's focus just to keep up with him, and she was beginning to feel faint when Carter abruptly stopped in front of a tree with what was clearly the seal of Illéa carved into the trunk. Carter turned to the left, knelt to his knees, and pulled at a handle sticking out of the ground.

A storm door swung wide open, a dim, yellow light coming from within. There was enough room for Carter and America to step together onto the steep stairs below, and Carter turned back to pull the door closed above them.

They continued to descend the flight until, just as they got to the bottom, the bunker room was revealed.

The whole family was already there. Magda sat on a cot with one arm around May and the other around Gerad. There was a uniformed guard in the corner, and Dr. Ashlar was already there and seated as well.

Kenna and James were holding each other up for support, and Kenna was openly crying. James was clearly fighting back tears, himself, and their posture was one of complete and total worry.

Everyone in the room looked up at America when they heard footsteps on the stairs.

"Thank God!" Kenna exclaimed, leaping to her feet at the sight of her daughter.

"Mommy!" Astra squealed, and America suddenly had to hold on tight as Astra attempted to fling herself out of America's arms and towards Kenna's general direction.

The moment America's feet were off the stairs and on steady ground, she handed Astra over to Kenna's desperate arms, and got out of their way. Astra clung tightly to her mother, and Kenna covered her daughter's face with kisses as James came up behind them and wrapped them both up in his arms.

America breathed a shaky sigh of relief at the sight of them, but the hope that she'd feel better once Astra's weight was gone was immediately extinguished.

Her skin was hot to the touch, but the sensation felt cold and clammy, and she knew it wasn't just the lighting in the bunker making her look pale. Her head was pounding, her vision blurring at the edges, and she felt dangerously close to vomiting. She knew what this was, she'd felt it before. She was going to faint. At least, that's what would happen if the sensation got any worse.

"Bathroom?" America choked out, eyes scanning the room.

Dr. Ashlar was giving her his full attention from the far side of the room. "This way, your Majesty." he pointed to the only door in the large, musty room.

America couldn't have sprinted, even if she'd tried. All of her joints felt like jelly, causing the trembling throughout her body. She swung the door wide, just as the gagging started, and found the toilet just as her mouth filled with sickly, burning bile.

Two short heaves, and she was done.

"In through your nose, out through your mouth, your Majesty." Dr. Ashlar intoned, crouching next to her.

"Fresh air?" America requested.

"Not down here." he frowned.

"It's so hot."

Dr. Ashlar shook his head, "It's not, it's quite cool down here, but your body is having trouble stabilizing your internal temperature. Keep breathing." he reminded her. "That will help."

America focused only on her breath, until Dr. Ashlar appeared at her side bearing a cup of water he'd just fetched from the sink. "Sip this."

The pounding in her head began to recede, her heartbeat slowed to a steady pace, the tiny fever on her skin broke and the coolness began to seep in.

"Better?" Dr. Ashlar asked.

"Much."

"I'm glad his Majesty thought to send for me. Let's find some place more comfortable than the bathroom floor for you to sit, and I'll do a quick examination."

"That sounds wonderful." America agreed. Nothing would be more reassuring after the chaos of the fire, than to know that her baby was safe and healthy in spite of everything going on out here.

Dr. Ashlar helped her to her feet, and offered her his arm as they walked back into the main room, although America was much steadier now than she had been five minutes before.

"How about that cot in the corner?" Dr. Ashlar suggested, pointing across the room.

"That'll be fine." America agreed. "I'd like to speak with my family quickly, now that I'm more stable."

"Of course." Dr. Ashlar bowed and saw himself to the cot to wait for her.

America's first order of business was to check on Astra.

Kenna and James were still huddled around their daughter, who was making it her business to dry her mother's tears by aggressively rubbing Kenna's cheeks. Kenna was so glad to see her, she didn't even bother to stop her or remind her to be gentle.

"Astra, are you doing better now?"

"Yeah." Astra peeked over at America, then ducked her head onto Kenna's shoulder. "You sick?"

"I just got a little overwhelmed. I'm much better now that I've caught my breath." America reassured her.

"Ames—" Kenna's voice wavered. "Ames… _Thank you_."

"It's alright." America reassured her. "You don't have to thank me. I was _glad _to help get her out of there."

"You carried her out here? All the way from the third floor?" Kenna sounded worried, her wide eyes flitting briefly to America's stomach.

"Dr. Ashlar is going to give me a quick check up in a minute, everything's going to be fine." America reassured her.

Astra was growing a little tearful, too, likely picking up on Kenna's anxiety. "Mommy, I'm sorry!"

Kenna frowned, "Why, baby?"

"I left my room! I went to Mackin! I was scared!"

"You didn't do _anything _wrong, Astra." Kenna reassured her.

"Yeah, you're always invited to sleep with Uncle Maxon and me, anytime you have nightmares." America reassured her, brushing a hand through Astra's red curls.

"And Daddy and I knew where you were." Kenna said. "Officer Avery told us where you'd gone, you _didn__'__t_ sneak away so that we thought you were lost. You're _not_ in trouble."

"Then why do I feel bad?" Astra asked, sounding so lost.

"You'll feel better in the morning." America reassured her. "I promise. Cuddle up with your mommy and daddy, and in the morning we'll eat waffles and play at the tree castle until nap time."

"Okay." Astra sniffled.

"Ames?" James finally spoke, his voice was fragile but full of warm tones. "Where's Maxon?"

Her distress must of have been visible on her face, because even though she tried to steel herself when she responded, their expressions reflected all of her worry back to her. "He stayed behind."

James sighed, meeting Kenna's anxious eyes with his own, then he stepped forward and wrapped America in his arms.

He was taller than Maxon, so that he had to bend down for their shoulders to be flush, but America liked the feeling of being encased in his arms. He was steady, James, a real pillar in their family. She understood what Kenna meant, now, every time she thanked America for marrying Maxon. Kenna could have married someone less stable, less stalwart, someone who was useless in a crisis. Instead, she married James, and he did nothing but make their family stronger. America was immensely grateful.

He didn't say anything else, just leant back and released her. America gave Astra and Kenna each a kiss on the cheek, and then she went to check on her mother and the younger siblings.

"Ames." May jumped up and wrapped her in a tight hug. "What happened? We heard there was a fire."

"That's all I know." America said. "It wasn't a small fire, though, if it threatened the stability of the subbasement level. They must have set the fire long before they were detected."

"So the rebels knew where the safe room was, and made sure you couldn't use it, _before_ they were caught?"

"…I think they were caught on purpose." America realized as she said it. "The alarm flushed us out, and once we couldn't get to our safe room, we would have been like fish in a barrel."

"Thank goodness we have this bunker, then. The rebels must not know about it." May said, relieved.

America froze, thinking that over. They must not know about the bunker. Surely she and the entire royal family would be dead by now if the rebels knew about the bunker…

Unless she wasn't supposed to realize that the rebels knew. Unless she was just supposed to sit tight, right here, and wait for the rebels to get around to killing her. Wait for them to finish burning down the Palace and killing Maxon, before they got around to killing her and her entire family.

This might not be a bunker to the rebels. This might just be a holding pen.

"Carter." America turned, "Call for backup."

"Your Majesty?"

"If the rebels know our protocol well enough to find our safe room and burn it down, who's to say they don't know that I'm supposed to wait here, in this bunker, until we get the all-clear from the Palace? And if they take over the Palace and the all-clear never comes, then they can take their time and come and kill me at their own convenience. They know I won't move." America's voice was cold. Calm. She was channeling every ounce of Queen Amberly's unflappable demeanor in this moment.

Carter blinked, slowly taking in everything she'd said. Then he turned, pulled out his communication device, and began issuing hurried orders.

America scanned the room and found the other guard, still standing watch in the corner. She hurried over to him. "What's your name, sir?"

"Officer Rivers, your Majesty." he bowed.

"You're on my family's detail?"

"No, ma'am. I'm new. I enlisted in August and was brought to the Palace after basic training. I was only guarding the third floor because one of the regular guards is out, sick. Commander Leger has gotten very strict about disallowing illness on the third floor since…" he paused and looked at her stomach.

"I'm pregnant. Yes, I know. It's not a dirty word, Officer, you can say it." America encouraged him.

"Yes, ma'am, due to your pregnancy."

"So you're new, not a part of my family's usual detail, but you got them here tonight?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"How did you find the place? _I__'__ve_ never even been here."

"It's cleaned and checked twice a month, ma'am, along with all of the safe rooms and bunkers. The more established guards like to make the new recruits do the task, as it's usually incredibly boring and mostly involves killing spiders and feather dusting hard surfaces. I've already been on the patrol to clean the bunkers twice."

"I see."

"I knew exactly where to take them, your Majesty. That's why Officer Avery tasked me with leading them out here. Other officers might not remember the exact path, and the more experienced fighters were needed to combat the rebels within the Palace walls."

"Well, that may be true, but I appreciate what you've done tonight more than I could possibly say. I don't suppose it's any secret how close I am with my family?"

"No, ma'am. And… well, if there was any doubt, seeing you come down with that little girl in your arms…"

America nodded, cleared her throat, squared her shoulders and said, "There's a medal for outstanding service to your queen with your name on it, Officer Rivers, but first we need to get through this night."

"Yes, ma'am."

Carter hurried over to them. "We've got backup on the way, apparently Commander Leger came to the same conclusion you did, just a few minutes sooner."

"That's not surprising, he's a very smart man."

"I've been given orders to stand guard outside, in the clearing. Rivers, you're to stay in the bunker and defend the royal family with your life, if the rebels get past me."

"Yes, sir." Rivers seemed unwavering in his unequivocal agreement to lay down his life for America and the Singers.

"You'll be alone out there?" America asked.

"Help is on the way." Carter reminded her. "My presence will help the reinforcements locate the bunker."

"Fine. Be _careful_. I'm not having my best friend widowed because of a bunch of arsonists and vandals."

"Well, I'm not having my king widowed and left without an heir." Carter replied, simply.

America had to stop herself from rolling her eyes at Carter's haughty expression. "Excuse me, Officer Woodwork, but that was not a request. Your Queen has _ordered _you to be careful and to survive this encounter for the good of your family."

Carter bit back a lopsided smile and saluted her. "Yes, ma'am, as you command." and then he hurried up the stairs and emerged stealthily into the clearing above.

"Your Majesty?" Dr. Ashlar called out to her from the cot.

"Yes." America blinked. She turned to Officer Rivers and said, "I need to get this baby checked on, and then I want another update on what's happening in the Palace."

"Yes, ma'am."

America turned her attention inward as she crossed over to the cot where Dr. Ashlar was waiting. Still not so much as a wiggle from her baby, all evening long. After so many months of constant kicking and squirming and fluttering, this was the worst possible night for the baby to decide to take things easy for a while.

"Thank you for waiting." America said as she took a seat beside Dr. Ashlar, and he dug into the doctor's bag he'd brought with him.

"No problem at all, your Majesty."

"And thank you for coming out here, tonight."

"I would never disobey a direct order from my king. And it just so happens, I was glad he thought of me."

"How is your wife?" America asked. She'd never seen the woman, but she'd noticed the ring on his finger before, and the one time she'd been to his private rooms, she could tell he was living with someone else.

"She's well, your Majesty. The staff and employee safe rooms were untouched by the fire, and remain secure."

"That's good to hear." America thought again of Marlee and Kile, and then of her maids. She couldn't lose Mary or Paige, not this soon after losing Esther. Maybe not ever. Mary and Paige might just have to resign themselves to staying with America forever.

Dr. Ashlar pulled out a blood pressure cuff and wrapped it around America's upper arm. "Calm breaths, in through your nose and out through your mouth."

America nodded and focused only on her breathing and her stomach, hoping to feel a kick, a wiggle, anything.

Dr. Ashlar studied the device as it tightened and then gradually loosened on her arm. "A little high this evening, your Majesty. I'm not too concerned about that, your blood pressure is usually in the green zone. I'd chalk this up to a rough evening. It's not so high that you're in immediate danger."

"Good."

"Have you and his Majesty discussed learning a few breathing techniques before the baby comes?" Dr. Ashlar asked, as he properly wrapped up and then stored the device. "Most mothers I've worked with have found that they really, truly help during delivery."

"We haven't, but Maxon would never be opposed to such a thing. Can we discuss it at my appointment on Friday?"

"Absolutely." Dr. Ashlar pulled out his stethoscope, and then breathed on it to warm it up for her.

At the sight of this, Astra suddenly understood what was going on. Apparently, she'd been watching them from across the room, probably working hard to keep her promise to Maxon. "Hey!" Astra wiggled out of Kenna's arms, forcefully, and then scurried across the floor, her feet still bare and slapping adorably on the hard surface. "You a doctor?

"Yeah, this is the baby's doctor." America said, scooping Astra up to cuddle to her side. "And my doctor, too."

"Hello, Lady Astra. My name is Dr. Ashlar." Doctor Ashlar extended his hand.

Astra narrowed her eyes suspiciously as she took his hand and shook it, her hand comically small in his. "Where your coat?"

"My coat?" Dr. Ashlar asked. He as wearing his pajamas and matching dressing gown this evening. Recognition dawned over him, "Oh, my white coat? It's in the Palace. I don't usually wear it to sleep in, and I didn't have time to change clothes once the alarm sounded."

Astra considered this, still supremely suspicious, and rewarded him with a "Humph."

"You can stay with me and the baby, but you need to be very quiet while Dr. Ashlar listens to my heart, okay?" America said.

"You gonna give Aunt Ames a shot?" Astra asked, worriedly eyeing his doctor's bag.

"Not tonight." Dr. Ashlar reassured her.

"Okay. Fine." Astra allowed, and Dr. Ashlar chuckled as he continued with his examination.

America sat with Astra, running fingers through the girls strawberry hair, a gesture that soothed both of them. She focused on breathing, closing her eyes to the bunker around them and reminding herself that everything was fine inside her body. If only the baby would give her a little wiggle, to agree with her.

"Nothing abnormal in your heartbeat." Dr. Ashlar finally reported.

"It was skipping earlier."

"When?" Dr. Ashlar asked.

"On the way out here."

Dr. Ashlar nodded, "You overexerted yourself."

"Yes. There were lots of stairs, very quickly…"

"Not to mention, going from lying flat to up and running, at the initial rebel alarm, is quite a shock to the system. Midnight sprints to this bunker are not something we're going to make a habit of, so I'm not worried. You recovered from your dizzy spell in a normal amount of time, meaning your body is still functioning, if not at peak condition, at least at a normal condition."

"Good, I'm glad to hear that."

"I'm going to have a listen to the baby's heartbeat now." Dr. Ashlar said.

America gulped, irrationally afraid that there would be no heartbeat to report. She reminded herself that she would have felt _something _if something was wrong with the baby, and she tried to focus on the adorable way Astra was peering at the stethoscope, watching as Dr. Ashlar draped a grey, scratchy blanket in America's lap to afford her some privacy as he pushed her robe aside and her nightgown up to reveal her stomach.

"Woah!" Astra said, studying the newly revealed stomach. "That's a big baby!"

"Yes, we like big babies." Dr. Ashlar agreed, laughing.

Now that her belly was exposed, her family was inching over, each wanting a peek.

"Why?" Astra asked. "Babies are small."

"Big babies are healthy babies." Dr. Ashlar said. "Your baby cousin is about six pounds, as of last Friday. That's a very healthy weight for a baby so young." He winked at America, who smiled. Even if the smile was strained, it was genuine.

"This is a big belly." Astra frowned at it.

"The baby doesn't think so. The baby thinks it's the _perfect _size to be its home for a few more weeks." Dr. Ashlar said. "What if you had to live in a home that small for a few weeks? Would you think it was too big, then?"

Astra shook her head, eyes widening. "Oh, no! It's too small! The baby is squished."

"The baby likes it in there." Dr. Ashlar reassured her. "It feels like a nice, warm hug in there."

James intervened, "Like this!" and he scooped his daughter into his arms, sweeping her up so that she was parallel to the ground, and then he clutched her to his chest and pressed his lips to her newly exposed stomach, blowing a loud raspberry that resulted in screeching toddler giggles.

James righted his daughter and then shushed her, placing one more kiss to her temple, and the room fell silent so that Dr. Ashlar could listen in on the baby.

The doctor's expression was reassuring from the moment he placed the stethoscope on America's stomach. He nodded, listening, and then smiled broadly when he located the baby's heartbeat under America's. He consulted his wristwatch, tracking the beats per minute, and finally he sat up straight and said, "Perfect, as usual. Any cramping?"

"None."

"No pre-contractions?"

"Not yet."

"In my professional opinion, you're fit as a fiddle, your Majesty. And the baby is, too."

"That's such a relief to hear." America sighed.

Dr. Ashlar grinned and offered the ears of the stethoscope to Astra. "Would you like to listen to your baby cousin's heartbeat?"

"I can hear the baby?"

"Yes."

James sat Astra down, and Astra busied herself following the doctor's orders on how to tell which was America's heartbeat and which was the baby's.

"I hear it!" Astra screamed too loudly when she found the heartbeat, her eyes alight with joy as she looked to the doctor in amazement. "WOW, that's a loud baby!"

America laughed and received a stern warning from Astra to be quiet.

America could have stayed there, in that bubble of family and safety all night, but she was the Queen and had to return to the reality of the situation. The Palace was on fire, the King was in the Palace, and one lone officer stood outside of the bunker, attempting to guard all of them from the rebel forces.

"Alright, Astra, you try that stethoscope out on someone else. I need to go talk to Officer Rivers." The officer was looking very worried, over in that corner by himself.

"Okay. Mommy, you got a baby in your tummy?" Astra asked, charging at Kenna with the stethoscope and pressing it hard to her flat stomach.

"Not yet, honey." Kenna laughed. "Remember? Hopefully _after _your birthday."

"Oh. After I'm four?" Astra asked.

"Yes. After you're four."

Astra frowned, listening hard. "No, I think I hear a baby."

America paused and turned to her sister, shocked.

Kenna shook her head, laughing, "It's wishful thinking, I swear, Ames! I'm still on the tablets."

"_Are_ you?" America demanded.

"_Yes_!" Kenna giggled again, "You're going to be the very first person James and I tell, I swear! We're not trying yet."

"….Fine." America narrowed her eyes at them, suspiciously.

"Aunt May, you got any babies?" Astra asked, abandoning her mother's empty stomach and testing out May's.

"Oh, good God." America swore at the very thought, and excused herself from the conversation. She had enough stress in her life right now without thinking about her baby sister having babies. Kenna's and May's laughter at America's expense was a joyous sound, though.

Officer Rivers was listening to the communication device when America arrived in his corner. His expression was grave.

"Officer? Report." America gave the command she'd heard Maxon give hundreds of times before. She assumed it would work for her, too. She was right.

"The fires have yet to be contained, in the Palace."

"Plural?"

"There were strategically placed decoy fires to deplete resources from the main inferno in the safe room."

"I see."

"Several insurgents were seen sprinting away from the Palace, in the direction of this bunker."

America tensed. "Did they know where they were going, or were they fleeing the fight?"

"We're assuming that they are on their way with the intention of attacking, ma'am."

"Better safe than sorry." America agreed. "What's the protocol in this situation?"

"I don't… I don't know." Officer Rivers frowned. "I radioed in for orders and I haven't received word back. That tells me that things are too chaotic at the Palace right now for any commanding officers to respond."

"And Officer Woodwork?"

"He's hiding outside, if I radioed him, it would give away his location. There are no circumstances under which I would do that."

"I see." With a gulp, America realized that she was now the highest ranking authority that they were capable of contacting, and since Officer Rivers didn't know what to do, he'd likely need orders from her.

She thought back to the last time she'd been under siege. The rebel attack in the Palace at the end of Maxon's Selection. The last time K pointed a gun at her chest. She forced herself to move past her memories of Maxon being shot, and to try to recover anything useful from that day.

She thought of her time, alone, in that tiny safe room. The way she'd tried to escape, turning that bench over for cover before she did so.

"Let's quickly rearrange the furniture in here to provide some cover." America said. "If the rebels get in here, we can at least make it harder for them to shoot us."

"Yes, ma'am." Officer Rivers seemed relieved to have orders, and such reasonable ones, at that. He took command of the room, and everyone but America and Astra began rearranging the heavy furniture around them.

A cabinet full of blankets and pillows was pushed in front of the staircase, taking up the entire width and height of the opening. It would be impossible for intruders to see into the room until they knocked the cabinet down, which could provide the royal family with lifesaving seconds.

The cots provided several rows of barricades, and the wooden chairs reinforced them. It wasn't much, but it was better than nothing.

The last wooden crate was in place to complete the obstacle course designed to buy Officer Rivers and the family a few extra seconds to take aim at the assailants, and no sooner had the room fallen still than the noise erupted outside. Through the doors above, muffled screams were heard, and then shots were fired. Lots of shots. Way, way too many shots.

"Take cover in the bathroom." Officer Rivers whispered loudly, and America did not have to be told twice.

Her family and Dr. Ashlar streamed into the bathroom, but Officer Rivers stopped Gerad. "Mister Singer, do you remember the barricades we studied?"

It took a moment for America to realize that Gerad must have trained with Officer Rivers at some point during the officer's orientation, due to the frequency with which Aspen allowed Gerad to train with the guards.

"Yes." Gerad whispered breathless.

"Barricade the bathroom door."

"Yes, sir." Gerad nodded, a look of determination on his face, rather than fear.

"Stay safe." America said, touching Officer Rivers on the elbow before joining her family in the bathroom.

It was cramped, with all of them in the tiny space. Astra, Kenna, May, and Magda huddled on the floor at the back of the grey, tiled room. Astra was wrapped up in Kenna's arms, but Kenna was wrapped up in Magda's arms.

Gerad ripped the shower curtain rod down from the small, square showering space, tore off the fabric, and used the metal rod to barricade the door. His method was direct, his hands unfaltering. He'd practiced this in guard training. When he was confidant that the door was secure, he turned back to the room.

"Someone should reinforce the barricade. I'm… still too small." Gerad frowned, disappointed with himself.

"I'll do it." James said.

"No." Dr. Ashlar intervened. "Sit with your family. I'll do it."

Dr. Ashlar stepped forward and Gerad showed him how to reinforce the door with his body. "If they shoot at the door, or if the barricade seems as if it's going to break, duck into that little corner in the shower." Gerad pointed to the corner that had once been designated showering space. There was no tub, just a grate in the floor to catch water, and a shower head around a corner for cleaning off. "Stay low, if you do." Gerad finished.

"Yes, sir." Dr. Ashlar said, and Gerad nodded. He was grimly satisfied to be taken so seriously.

"Gerad, get back here." Magda opened her arms.

"No. Ames has to be in the middle." Gerad said. "If none of the rest of us make it out, Ames has to."

America's jaw dropped, her mouth dry as cotton at hearing her baby brother talk like that. She knew that's how the guards were trained to think, but her own brother?

"He's right." James said. "Come here, Ames."

To hurry things along, more than any other reason, America moved to the center of her family. Gerad had them press into a corner rather than be right across from the entrance, and he toilet papered the room to create visual obstacles for intruders.

Astra insisted on sitting next to America, which was fine because Astra was the other person that they wanted most to protect most. Immediately, Astra curled her body around America's belly and said, "I'm protecting the baby for Mackin."

"Oh, Astra, no—" America objected, but Gerad shushed them all. He positioned Kenna on the other side of Astra, then May on the other side of America. Magda went next to May, and James next to Kenna. Gerad would be on the other side of his mother once he took his position, but first he picked up the fallen shower curtain and draped it over them.

Precious seconds. It was all in the name of precious seconds.

Finally, Gerad turned off the yellow lightbulb above them, and in the pure darkness, ducked down into his place next to his mother.

With nothing to see, America focused on what she could hear, and what she could feel.

It was hot, under the shower curtain. She could hear her sisters' breaths. Astra's breaths were coming out with almost inaudible whimpers. They could no longer hear the skirmish above, through the barricaded doors between them and the danger.

That didn't last much longer.

They knew their defenses were breached when they heard a loud bang. Not a gunshot. Someone was trying to knock the cabinet at the stairs down and, in failing to do that, was possibly trying to break it apart. Anything to get it out of the way.

May clutched America even tighter.

They listened.

Loud voices in the main bunker room, two distinct male voices yelling. And then gunshots. Five of them, in a row.

Astra pressed kisses to America's stomach, whispering words of comfort to the baby that were really more for herself. She was crying and America pressed a kiss to the top of her head. Kenna did the same thing, and her cheek grazed America's. They stayed like that, cheek to cheek, waiting.

The sounds in the main room where getting louder, closer to the bathroom door. Officer Rivers was fighting back as best he could, but really, a few crates and a few cots didn't make for much cover. There was another round of gunshots, and this time, a terrible cry.

America's stomach fell. That was Rivers' voice. He'd been hit.

Loud, clomping footsteps, but only one pair.

The handle to the bathroom door jiggled. It was locked, of course, but no bathroom lock would keep a southern rebel out for long.

The person outside began slamming something into the door, trying to knock it off its hinges. The barricade held steady, thanks to Gerad and Dr. Ashlar.

Precious seconds. Precious, precious seconds.

The door sounded as though it splintered, there was a terrible cracking sound. The barricade likely stood, but the door itself was falling apart. America hoped Dr. Ashlar was ducking out of the way.

Unable to stop himself anymore, James slipped from his place on the outside of the huddle and crouched over. He covered America, Astra, and Kenna with his body. He'd have covered them all, if he could reach them, America knew it. May angled her body in to cover America's other side, too, and she knew Magda and Gerad were squeezing in on May.

"I love you, baby girl." James murmured to his terrified daughter.

"I love you, Daddy."

It occurred to America that James thought those might be his last words.

Finally, there was a mighty crash, the barricade fell through, and light poured in. America could see it through the shower curtain, around James' all-encompassing silhouette.

It took a precious second for the intruder's eyes to adjust to the darkness and see past the toilet paper.

Another precious second to realize that there was a royal-family-sized lump in the corner of the bathroom.

Another second for him to audibly rotate the bullet chamber of his gun, clicking a bullet into place.

There was a sickening crack, but it took America several precious seconds to realize that it wasn't the crack of a gun. There were the sounds of scuffling, and then Officer Rivers' voice, "Mister Gerad, your shoelaces, if I may."

In his excitement, Gerad threw the shower curtain off of all of them, to reveal Officer Rivers, shirt stained with blood, standing over a limp body, more blood seeping rapidly from its head wound.

Gerad slid the laces out of his trainers and held them out, eagerly.

"Why don't you do the honors?" Officer Rivers suggested. "He's not getting up again anytime soon, that's just a precaution, and I'm a little… uh…"

"Shot?" America suggested.

"Grazed, I think."

"Was this the last of them?" America asked as Gerad took to tying up the unconscious man.

"He had a friend, I shot him while they were struggling with the cabinet. He's likely… um… expired."

He couldn't say 'dead' yet. America knew that feeling well.

"Radio for help." America instructed.

"Help already arrived! I heard them assisting Officer Woodwork above. He's… apparently, in a bad way."

Dr. Ashlar appeared from where he'd been peeking out in the former shower area. "Let me help, I'm here already. You say you're grazed?"

"I'll just need stitches, I think." Officer Rivers said, lifting his bloody shirt to show the doctor.

"Ew!" Astra squealed.

"Oh, Astra, baby, close your eyes." Kenna said, regaining her wits. "Officer, is there anywhere else we can go?"

"We're just waiting on the all-clear from the Palace, but it's safe to be in the clearing while we wait. It's surrounded by guards, and we'll have advanced warning if another group of rebels tries to make a run for this bunker."

"Good enough." James said, pulling Kenna to her feet, then scooping Astra up. He paused long enough to help America off of the ground and make sure she was alright, before fleeing up to the clearing above.

"How soon will we be back at the Palace?" Dr. Ashlar asked.

"Within the hour, I think." Officer Rivers replied.

"This will keep this long. I'll go see to it that our Officer Woodwork survives."

"Yes." America agreed. "Go, now."

"You'll come to me immediately with any cramping or contractions, do you understand?" Dr. Ashlar said, sternly.

"I do." America reassured him.

"Very good then." Dr. Ashlar took off, and Magda, May, and Gerad went to see if there was anything they could do to help.

"You saved our lives. Thanks to you, the last thing I ever know won't be my family being shot to death around me. It won't be slowly bleeding out as my baby and I both die in my sisters' and 3-year-old niece's arms."

"I'm so glad." Officer Rivers said. It was all he could manage.

America slipped off her robe and tore off a large strip, long enough to wrap around the officer's stomach and slow some of the bleeding. While she wrapped it around him, she asked, "How did you do it?"

"I was hit. That was real." He still couldn't quite believe it. He was no older than Aspen had been when he'd first become a guard, still a kid, really. This time last year, he'd been flirting with girls in his province and running errands for his mother. Now he was here. Saving the Queen of Illéa. Getting shot. "I had the breath knocked out of me, but the rebel thought I was down for good. He wasn't well-trained, had terrible aim."

"We destroyed their training camps." America said. "The air raids."

"Oh, yeah." He must have heard about those on the news, many months ago. Back when he'd still been a teenaged boy and not a soldier. She could see he was having trouble connecting the two lives. "Well, it worked. He was terribly trained. He got distracted by the door… I can't believe your brother's barricade held so well."

"I'm so proud of him." America teared up, just at the thought. Maybe not _just _at the thought. It had been a long night, and she still needed to find her husband.

"I am, too, ma'am. While the assailant was busy breaking through the barricade, I had time to sneak around behind him and position myself to take him out. I hit him as hard as I could, with my gun. I didn't dare open fire in those closed quarters. If he'd dodged at the last moment, I could have hit you. Or the little girl."

"Her name is Astra, and I'm sure you're her hero now."

Officer Rivers smiled, but it came out like a grimace as America finished wrapping up the wound and lowered his bloody shirt.

"We should join the others." America said, offering the officer her arm.

"Yes. We might be able to help."

America shook her head, amused. "What is it with Palace guards? Even when they're shot, they're trying to help other people."

When America and Officer Rivers emerged from the underground bunker, Dr. Ashlar was hard at work on Carter's leg.

"I'll be fine." Carter said, when he saw the look on America's face. "Got me in the thigh. Fleshy, and they missed the bone."

"Tore up your muscles, though, officer. You're in for a long recovery." Dr. Ashlar warned.

"Whatever." Carter gritted his teeth. "I'll live. That better be the first thing Marlee hears."

"It will be." America promised.

"Your Majesty," Dr. Ashlar said, without looking away from his work. "I'd like you off your feet, if you would be so kind. Perhaps one of your family could bring up a crate for you to sit on?"

"I'll do it." James volunteered.

It was twenty minutes in the clearing, the cold night air whipping around them, before they got the all-clear from the Palace. The fires were out, the rebels were gone.

James carried Astra back, and Kenna kept her arms around America the whole way.

"You saved our baby girl's life. You carried her all the way to the bunker." Kenna breathed.

"If it wasn't for me, the rebels wouldn't care one way or another about her. She'd be safe." America lamented.

Kenna shook her head. She just didn't see it that way. "You can't seriously blame yourself for tonight. Unless you snuck down and started all of those fires, and you were the man with the gun coming to shoot you? That would be a plot twist." Kenna joked, and she was rewarded with a weak smile.

"I love you, Kenna. I'm sorry Astra is probably scarred for life after tonight."

"She'll spend a few nights in our bed, that's for sure. We wouldn't have it any other way." Kenna said. "And then, when we start easing her into sleeping in her own bed again, she'll start joining you and Maxon. So be prepared for that."

"We love cuddling up with her, you know that."

"She is very cuddly." Kenna agreed, rubbing soothing patterns on America's back.

"…I really thought she was going to have to watch us die tonight." America whispered, her voice choked.

Kenna gulped. "Me, too." She took a breath, squeezed America closer, and said, "But she didn't. And she's amazingly resilient. She's going to be _fine_. Not scarred for life. Just a little shaken up."

"_I _might be scarred for life."

"Yeah… I know the feeling." Kenna frowned.

Maxon was waiting for them in the entrance beyond the garden doors. He was giving orders left and right, and Stavros was already there, consulting him, but the moment he set eyes on America, he stopped everything.

"Ames." he hurried forward and pulled her in for a tight hug and a long, life-affirming kiss. "God. I heard what happened."

America swallowed hard, knowing that she needed to be Queen right now. Knowing that she couldn't collapse into tears, the very tears that would leech all of the dread and fear out of her body, not until she was alone with Maxon.

"Officers Woodwork and Rivers saved our lives, with some help from Gerad." America smiled bravely, working to keep her expression calm.

She wasn't fooling her family or Maxon, they could tell that inside, she was quaking. But if _she_ could still put on a show, then they could, too. And if they could put on a show, then the rebels must not have destroyed things too badly. It was crisis logic, but it was all they had.

Maxon released her, "I'm going to be briefed on the extent of the fire damage, I'll have detailed lists on your desk in the morning. I know you're on maternity leave, Love, but—"

"I'll deal with it after I sleep."

"There's no rush." Maxon agreed. "The subbasement level has been evacuated, the rest of the Palace is structurally secure. There was a separate fire set up on the roof—"

"The roof?"

"Actually, our part of the roof." Maxon explained, referencing the place they'd once danced in the rain. The place where she'd realized she loved him.

"Why? What's the point?"

"All of Angeles saw those flames." Maxon replied, grimly.

"Gavril?" America sighed.

"On his way as we speak." Stavros confirmed.

"I'm going to shower before her gets here."

"Wise, my love, I'll have Mary sent to you. I'm sure you'd like to see her with your own eyes, see that she's alright."

"Yes, and I need to see Marlee immediately, before anything else."

"Of course." Maxon agreed.

"You okay, Mackin?" Astra asked, now that it seemed like she could get a word in.

"Yeah, you okay, Pumpkin?"

"…Yeah."

It was heartbreaking, that little pause before she'd replied.

Behind them, the doors opened and several of the reinforcements Aspen had sent out to save the royal family came in, a man bound and gagged between them.

"Who is this?" Maxon's entire voice and demeanor changed. He wasn't husband Maxon, now. He was angry King Maxon.

"This is a rebel, your Majesty." One of the Officers replied. "We found him in the woods, we're bringing him in for questioning."

Maxon studied his face, trying to determine if it was the man from the newspaper. Could this be Jefferson Potter, the elusive K? But it wasn't. This man looked nothing like K. K was a dark man with dark, southern features. This rebel was nothing more than a boy, 16 years old at most and pale, the stubble on his shaved head revealed reddish, blonde hair.

Astra screamed, a painful sound, and everyone in the room stared at her. She was pointing at the man, her eyes wide with horror.

"What is it, Astra?" Maxon asked.

"That's the bad guy!" Astra cried, tears bursting from her eyes.

This didn't make sense. Of all the bad guys she'd seen tonight, this teenager was the one who had her screaming?

"I know, but he's all tied up, Astra." Maxon attempted to reason, focusing all of his attention on her.

"He was in my bad dream!" Astra tried to explain.

"The bad guy…" slowly Maxon remembered. "This was the bad guy you saw in your bad dream?" Maxon asked.

"Yes!"

Maxon rounded on the rebel with more vitriol in his eyes than America had ever seen. It was terrifying, even to her. "You were in that little girl's room?" Maxon spat, his voice a boom of venom.

The rebel's eyes showed just enough fear to be an affirmative response.

Maxon turned to the guards holding him captive. "Dungeons. I want him questioned. _Now_." He spat the last word, cold fury not even beginning to describe the look in his eyes.

The rebel was dragged away and Maxon turned to Stavros, power radiating from his body. America had never seen him look so much like Clarkson. "We're ending this." he said to Stavros, enunciating every syllable. "We're not waiting for K to strike again. We're drawing him in, and we're taking him out. This game is _over_, he just doesn't know it yet."


	50. Chapter 50

It was a long night, headed into a longer day, but none of the Singers were ready to rest.

Technically, the Palace was secure, they could all return to their rooms, but somehow, without saying a word to each other about it, the rest of America's family ended up gathered in Magda's room, showering one at a time, or in the case of Kenna and Astra, two at a time, and then changing into fresh clothes.

America spoke with Marlee first thing, making sure she knew Carter was awake and a little short-tempered due to the pain in his leg, but otherwise fine. Marlee and Kile hurried off to spend the rest of the night with Carter in his hospital wing room.

Mary was waiting in America's room, completely unharmed although a bit shaken up, with a bath already drawn to perfection when America got there. America needed help getting in and out, but in between, Mary left her alone and did not try to engage her in conversation. America was relieved. She wasn't ready to answer questions. She wasn't ready to ask questions. She wasn't ready to relive what had just happened in any capacity, her body was still buzzing from her close encounter with death.

When America was fresh and clean, the remnants of her torn dressing gown sent down to the scrap heap, Mary helped America into the most comfortable, most commanding outfit they could find. Crisp black slacks and a flowing silver blouse, coupled with a pair of black pumps. Yes, pumps. She needed her heels right now; she needed her armor. Wearing these clothes made her feel like she was in complete control, even if she wasn't anywhere close to it.

Once her hair was dried and pulled into a french twist and her face was lightly made up, just enough to keep her from looking like she was so close to being defeated, America joined Maxon in his office. She wasn't truly surprised to find her family there, too. It seemed that, one by one, as they'd finished their showers, they'd streamed into Maxon's office. Again, this wasn't something they'd discussed and decided to do as a group, it was just where they all needed to be. The whole family needed to be together, and that included Maxon. Since Maxon was working from his office, that's where they all wound up.

The door adjoining Maxon's and America's offices was thrown wide open, revealing Magda and May on America's couches. They were close enough to feel like they were a part of the group, but far enough that they had some personal space in which to recover. Kenna and Astra were stretched out on one of Maxon's sofas, James on the floor beside them with a pillow for his head. Gerad took the couch across from them, staring up at the ceiling, shellshocked.

"Love." Maxon greeted her, the moment he laid eyes on her. He was looking over the report filed by Officer Rivers, America was looking over her family.

"Is Gavril in yet?" America asked, tearing her eyes away from her baby brother to meet Maxon's.

Maxon stood, setting aside the papers. He rounded the desk and pressed a kiss to her lips, taking a moment to caress her belly. She could have been wrong, but she also thought he was smelling her. He especially liked the way she smelled when she was fresh out of a bath, like peppermint, vanilla, and the kind of shampoo that tingles. He often said that the smell of her soothed him.

"Not yet." He finally replied. "Tell me how you're feeling."

"Physically, I'm fine. Dr. Ashlar looked me over in the bunker."

"_Before_ the bunker was compromised." He reminded her, sternly, worried that something could have changed between then and now.

America looked over the room again, at her stunned, horrified family. None of them were sleeping, none of them were speaking, they were all just laying there. It was taking everything they had just to cope. "I'm fine, Maxon." She said, in a tone that told him that she wasn't ready to deal with what had happened.

"I understand." He responded to her tone rather than her words, gave her belly another soothing caress, and then returned to his seat.

America sank into the chair facing his desk, allowing herself a moment to try to find a comfortable position, and once she was settled in, she asked, "Any word from the dungeons?"

"Not yet." Maxon's face grew hard at the thought. "From what I understand, the guards are just making sure our guest is… settled in. They plan to leave him that way for a few hours and then see what he was to say."

America didn't know, but she assumed that leaving him 'that way' meant chained into some kind of uncomfortable position. Maybe worse. She didn't have much of an imagination when it came to torture.

"I want to know everything he says, when the time comes."

"Of course." Maxon agreed.

Astra made a sudden move, out of Kenna's arms and hurriedly over to Maxon's lap. Her wet hair was combed up into a little ponytail that swung as she ran. She was in a pair of cream colored pajamas to keep her extra warm. There were dark shadows ringing her wide eyes in a heartbreaking way.

Maxon took a moment to hug her close to himself, her head on his chest as she listened to his heartbeat thud under her ear. Finally she wiggled around to face front, took a pen from Maxon's desk, and examined the papers in front of them.

"You need help." Astra announced.

"Yes, I do. How are you with letters?"

"I know some." Astra replied, seriously.

"Do you know the letter _A_?"

"Yes, of 'Astra'." Astra nodded, importantly.

"Exactly. If you see any _A_'s on that paper, would you put a mark next to them for me? It will help me later." Maxon said, lying brilliantly.

"Okay." Astra began studying the report in front of them with serious, slightly squinted eyes. She was silent, busy with her task.

Maxon continued reading the report over her head, and America contented herself with waiting for Gavril. She wasn't like Astra, she didn't need to create work to feel like she was contributing. She was in the process of growing a human child within her body, the heir to a magnificent throne; she _was_ contributing. She allowed herself this still, quiet moment to watch two of her favorite people in the world, in peace.

Stavros entered the office, startled by the entire contingent of Singers sprawled about, and then proceeded to stand next to Maxon's desk. "Your Majesties." he bowed.

"August and Georgia Illéa?" Maxon asked, without prelude.

"On their way."

"That guard, the one who was with you in the bunker. What was his name?" Maxon asked America.

"Officer Rivers."

"How is he fairing?" Maxon asked Stavros.

Stavros paused, dug through some papers in his arms, and found a list of injuries and deaths from the attack. "Rivers… stitched, cleaned, and being held overnight out of an abundance of caution. He's on a small dose of painkiller. He'll be back to work next week."

"He'll be promoted. I want that kind of bravery, that kind of loyalty near my family at all times."

"I'll be sure that Commander Leger is made aware that you would like Rivers on the family's detail."

"What of our other hostages?" Maxon asked.

Stavros cleared his throat, eyeing Astra especially, but casting a glance around the room at the rest of the family as well.

This time, America replied, "We are not keeping anything from them, Stavros, not about this. Not anymore. Not after what happened tonight…" she swallowed, hard. Still not ready.

Stavros nodded, reluctantly, and said, "There is one assailant in custody, a teenaged male—"

"Yes. We know about him." Maxon said, darkly, his eyes skirting over the back of Astra's head. She was still working away.

"There was an insurgent taken from the bunker, a male with severe blunt force trauma to his head—"

"We're questioning him?" America looked up, surprised. Sickened.

"No, ma'am… it seems he…" Stavros eyed Astra again, and then said "Perished before medical attention could be given. His wound was substantial."

"The man who attacked us is dead?" America clarified. This time Astra looked up.

Stavros was uneasy, "Yes, ma'am."

What kind of person did it make her, that her stomach unclenched and her whole body felt soothed, at that knowledge?

Apparently, she wasn't the only one. Kenna, who was now curled up with James on Maxon's couch, said, "Thank God."

"What do you think, Astra?" Maxon asked. "The bad guy is gone. He can't hurt anyone ever again."

Astra considered this, looking down at her work. "That bad guy was mean. I don't like him."

"Me neither." Maxon agreed.

"His mommy should make him in trouble." Astra frowned.

America and Maxon's eyes met, sadly. Leave it to Astra to maintain their attacker's humanity, no matter how terrible the trauma she'd been through. Of course that attacker had had a mother, possibly a mother who'd been grievously injured by the Illéan monarchy's policies toward the southern provinces. That didn't make it right. None of this made anything right. "Pumpkin head, do you feel safe now? Because that bad guy can never hurt you?"

"I'm safe." Astra agreed. "I'm at the big desk."

It was a start, America supposed. Even if Astra had to eat, sleep, and live on Maxon's desk for a while, at least she felt safe somewhere. America didn't yet know if she could say the same for herself.

"Clear security room A, have it prepared. Once we've heard what our _friend _in the dungeons has to say, I want a full meeting. We're not waiting for this to happen again, we're going after K."

"Yes, sir."

"Um, excuse me." Astra turned her head to face Maxon, whispering.

"Yes, Love?" Maxon replied, his tone shifting from vengeful to adoring in .5 seconds.

"Um, that's a _A_?" Astra whispered, pointing.

"That's an _A_." Maxon confirmed. America and Maxon both watched as she marked it with a squiggly line. Maxon rewarded her diligence with a kiss on her head, and then he turned back to Stavros, switching immediately back to his severe expression and tone. "That's all."

"Sir, I'd like permission to take fresh polling with regards to the inheritance amendment." Stavros said. "Given the visible fire tonight, I expect your numbers to fluctuate."

"Do it." Maxon waved. Stavros bowed and exited. Maxon's expression remained hard, focused for another moment, and then he dropped his eyes down to the report and murmured soothingly, "That's an _E_." and he squeezed Astra tightly around the middle as she squiggled out the squiggle next to the _E, _her version of correcting the mistake.

* * *

Gavril moved quickly, once he arrived, drafting a statement and having Maxon and America record it right there, in Maxon's office. It would air first thing in the morning, when the rest of the world would only just be finding out about the attack.

The words in the statement downplayed the severity of the attack and made absolutely no mention of the very near-death experience that America and her family had endured. Maxon did all the talking, explaining how quickly the rebels were subdued and the lack of damage from the fire on the roof (which was true, the fire _on the roof_ caused very little physical damage), while completely ignoring the fire in the main safe room.

Gavril made use of America mostly by having her seated at Maxon's side, slightly at an angle so as to display her bump. She'd grown, even since the nursery special had been taped, and Gavril wanted to take advantage of that.

When the message was taped, the camera, sound, and lighting people left Maxon's office, and Gavril took a moment to look around the room. The Singers were still laying there, shell-shocked.

"Are you going to be alright, your majesty?" Gavril's eyes settled on America. She was glad he'd asked that question, it was the perfect question. He hadn't asked her if she _was _alright, because how could she be? He'd asked if she _would_ be.

"I think I will be." America said, as bravely as possible. "I think _we_ will be." she added, with a nod to the rest of her family.

"If I can do anything..." he trailed off, but America nodded gratefully. The look in his sparkling eyes, always camera-ready, meant a lot to her. She knew that _Stavros _was Maxon's most important adviser, but sometimes she wondered if they would even have a country to run without the work _Gavril_ did for them every day.

"Thank you."

Maxon's phone rang loudly on his desk as Gavril left. America listened as Maxon answered it, had a short conversation, and then stood, bringing Astra up with him.

"That was Dr. Ashlar. He's had a break in treating wounded guards and has advised that I feed all of you and see to it that you get a few hours of sleep, if you can."

"Maxon-" America argued. She couldn't sleep. She couldn't eat. She couldn't even believe she was even going to get the chance, again.

"Waffles?" Astra chirped.

"Waffles?" Maxon asked, confused.

"You promised." Astra pointed out, her bottom lip trembling. As if nothing that had happened tonight would be worth it if she didn't get her waffles.

Maxon's eyes widened as he remembered their conversation, what seemed like a lifetime ago, in the stairwell above the inferno. "So I did. Well, the cooks should be down in the kitchens prepping breakfast by now." he consulted the clock on his mantle. 4 AM. "Let's send them a note asking them for waffles, immediately."

"Yes." Astra agreed, leaning down and reaching for the pen below. He cleared some papers and sat Astra down on what was possibly the most famous, most important desk in Illéan history. He tore off a clean piece of paper and placed his hand over her tiny fist, slowly drawing the letters to comprise a note to the kitchens asking for waffles, as soon as possible.

"Ames? Any cravings?" Maxon asked.

America shook her head, finding that the very thought of food was nauseating.

"Anybody else? Any special requests?" Maxon checked.

At first, it seemed like no one was going to reply, and then Gerad sat up, thoughtfully. "Donuts?"

"Donuts?" Maxon asked, impressed. "Absolutely." he and Astra added donuts to the list. "Anything else?"

"Bacon." Kenna said. "Lots of bacon."

James grinned, pressing a kiss to Kenna's cheek. "That's my woman." he gloated, pleased with her choice of meat.

"Scrambled eggs." May said, leaving America's couch and hurrying over to Maxon's side of the adjoined offices.

"Cinnamon rolls." Magda added, following her youngest daughter.

America realized they were compiling a list of foods that, a few short hours ago, none of them thought they would ever get to taste again. These were the foods they would have missed the most if they had died. The thought seemed to freeze her veins.

"Ames? Nothing?" Maxon asked, one more time.

America shook her head weakly, which caused Maxon's brow to furrow in concern, but Gerad added, "And hash browns."

The rest of the Singer clan called out their approval of Gerad's choice, America heard them as if from very far away.

Maxon finished the list, signed it, and then had Astra sign it as well. She managed a close approximation of an _A_, but the rest looked like she'd attacked the paper with the pen rather than attempted to sign anything.

"Alright, Astra, my love." Maxon said, setting Astra down on the floor and then folding the note. "Lead our family to the dining room and hand this note to the guard at the end of the hallway. He'll have it delivered to the kitchens for us."

"Me? What about you?" Astra asked, surprised at her new responsibility.

"I'm going to sit with Aunt Ames for a minute, just a minute, and talk with her."

"I can stay." Astra reassured him.

"But the sooner you hand that note off, the sooner we have our breakfast feast." Maxon reminded her.

Kenna began extracting herself from the comfort of James' embrace and held out her hand. "Let's go, baby girl. Maxon and Aunt Ames will meet up with us, it won't take too long."

Astra looked nervous, she clearly didn't want to be split up again. She could tell she wasn't going to win this battle, just from the looks on the grown up faces around her. She hurriedly made the best deal she could, before anyone else could notice her disadvantage. "Okay, but you gotta hurry, Mackin."

"I will, I promise." Maxon pressed a kiss to each of her cheeks and then to the tip of her nose. Astra took advantage of being eye level with him to study his brown eyes. Maxon tucked the paper with their breakfast menu in her hand, and then kissed her knuckles, too.

Astra sighed, heavy with her new responsibility, and took Kenna by the hand, leading the family off.

The room was too quiet, too still with the all of them gone.

America had hardly blinked the whole time Maxon was convincing Astra to leave, and she still couldn't bring herself to focus on him, now that he was kneeling before her. She stared at the floor past him, eyes glazed, trying very hard not to think about anything.

"Love?" Maxon said, softly, tracing her cheekbone with his thumb.

"I don't want to talk about it."

"I know that." he reassured her.

"I mean, I'll talk about it later, I just don't want to talk about it yet."

"That's fine. That's completely fine." his voice was soothing, the kind of tone you'd use to hush a squalling infant.

America gulped, working very hard not to think about how close she and her own infant had come to dying that night.

"Did you end up in the library?" America asked, hoping to change the subject.

"I did."

"Was it alright?"

"Fine." Maxon assured her. "Far from the fires, far from the fighting. I had three guards in the room with me, and another three at every entrance. It was downright dull, to be honest. I missed you. I wanted to send for you and the whole family to come back and join me there, but it would have been too dangerous to have you cross through the fighting again."

Too dangerous? Like that bunker had been safe?

"It was a trap, Maxon." America felt her chest constrict, felt tears sting her eyes. She pressed her fingers to her cheeks, trying to relieve the pressure in her sinuses that always built up right before she started crying.

"I know, Love." Maxon was using that voice again.

"The whole attack was a trap for _us_."

"Aspen told me." Maxon said. "Rivers' report said you figured it out on your own, you got the bunker ready for attack, you saved your family and the baby, Ames."

"What?" America asked, stunned and practically outraged. "Why would he say that?"

"Is it not true?"

"I _cowered_ in the bathroom while my family attempted to use their own bodies to save my life, every single one of them._ I_ am not the hero, Maxon. My baby brother announced to the room that I was the one who had to survive the bunker, so my sisters, my mother, my baby niece, and my brother tried to cover me like human shields. James literally put his body between the attacker and me, and Astra clung to my stomach, trying desperately to keep that stupid promise you made her make, to protect the baby. I swear to God, I thought she was going to _die _in a bath of blood and her final thoughts would be that she had failed you, Maxon."

Maxon swore and sank from his knees to the floor.

America gave up trying to stop the sobs, the ugly crying she'd been holding off all night. There as no point, now that Maxon had tricked her into talking. America sat there, her shoulders shaking with uncontrollable spasms, her face contorted with pain, her breaths coming in uneven shudders, tears flooding down her face, until she felt Maxon's hand on her knee.

Forcing her eyes open, she peeked down to find tears on his cheeks, too. From where he sat, balled up on the floor, he looked like a frightened boy. The King was nowhere to be seen. The furious man she'd met when she'd reentered the Palace was apparently still downstairs, near the garden entrance. He certainly wasn't here.

Maxon squeezed her knee gently, so she placed her hand over his. He laced their fingers together and tugged, beckoning her to join him down there. It took some doing, negotiating her stomach, but she made it in the end. He wrapped her up in his arms and they leant against his desk, and he murmured, "I didn't know… the reports made it sound simple. You realized it was a trap, you had Officer Rivers prepare the bunker for attack, you hid with your family in the bathroom, the assailant arrived, Officer Rivers was wounded, but managed to subdue the assailant before any harm could befall you."

America didn't know what to say to this. That was a technically accurate description of what had happened. It was positively history book. But like a history book, it had all of the facts and none of the truth.

"I thought I'd never see you again." America spoke that truth aloud, hating every syllable. "I thought I'd die. I didn't even know… if I'd died there, would my body have delivered the baby? Would it have been born alive to a dead mother? Or would the baby have died inside me? Or would it have depended on where I was shot, how long I lived after the bullet entered my body—"

"Stop."

"_I can__'__t!__"_ America didn't recognize the sound of her own voice. The desperation in it.

Maxon pulled her tighter to his chest, rocking them back and forth while she cried.

"That's never happening again." Maxon finally swore. "Do you believe me?"

"Yes." America choked out. She did believe him.

"We're changing all of the protocols, we're going to have a rotation so that they'll never be able to guess where we're going in an emergency. They'll never be able to find us. And I'm putting an _end_ to K."

The anger was back, the hard edge to his words. He wasn't crying anymore. He was back in monarch-mode. His whole life, Maxon had been presented with problems and expected to find solutions. He'd been raised as a fixer. Now he was going to put those skills to the ultimate test, and fix this for her. She could tell, just by the way he was holding her. Just by the sound of his voice.

"I'm going to help." America swallowed.

"You don't have to—"

"I _need_ to. I need to help stop K, or I'll just be sitting here, waiting to become a damsel in distress again."

"No one would ever mistake you for a damsel in distress, my love." the corners of his lips tugged upward, just a little. Just enough.

"…I felt like one tonight."

"But that's what I was trying to tell you! Officer Rivers wouldn't have managed to subdue the assailant without you! Without your magnificent mind realizing the trouble you all were in, Rivers never would have had the chance to save all of you. The assailants likely would have just waltzed into the bunker, unobstructed."

"Gerad was the one, he barricaded the door—"

"He wouldn't have known to barricade the door… I'm not saying you did it singlehandedly, Love, but you _weren__'__t _helpless. You were more powerful than the best laid plans of the southern rebels. I hate that you don't see how amazing you are. I hate that you feel powerless right now."

America tried to see it from his perspective, and she supposed that he was technically correct. She'd _helped _save her family. Just like Gerad, Dr. Ashlar, and Officer Rivers had _helped_.

Maxon continued. "They keep underestimating you, those rebels. They keep thinking you'll be an easy catch. From the beginning, K has said that he'd kill you if he ever got into the same room with you. As if it would be that easy for him to waltz into a room with you and just point a gun your way. You're smart and brave and people adore you. I don't just mean your family. There's not a person in this palace who wouldn't jump in front of a bullet for you. Maybe even in all of Angeles. Your approval ratings are much higher than mine, Love, it might extend to all of Illéa, or the whole entire world."

"Excluding Swendway." America joked, weakly.

"Right." he smiled at her.

America didn't know what to say. She felt a little better now that she'd had a nice cry and Maxon was with her, physically and mentally in the same place as her. But she wasn't okay, yet.

"I'm going to feed you now." Maxon announced. "And I'm not leaving your side until I've seen you get at least three hours of sleep."

"What happened to hunting down K?" America asked.

Maxon studied her tired face for a moment and then pressed a kiss to her lips, unable to stop himself. "I'm the King, remember? I've sent my pawns out to do my bidding. They'll report back, but in the meantime I'm going to attend to my queen."

* * *

Attend to her, he did. Maxon personally pressed a cool, damp cloth to her eyes until the puffiness and redness receded, kissed her until her lips went numb, and then they finally joined the rest of the family in the dining room, hand in hand.

"Where were you?" Astra demanded, when they walked in.

"Just talking." Maxon reassured her.

Kenna's expression was concerned, but not over Maxon and America, "She was pretty worried, Maxon." There was a code in that message. Astra was not okay.

"Why?" Maxon asked Astra gently, as he and America came around to their usual seats next to each other at the head of the table. Astra was in his seat, frowning seriously. "The bad guy is gone, remember?" Maxon reminded her.

"Yeah." Astra admitted. "But you were talking for too long, Mackin."

Maxon met Kenna's eyes, grimly, and then released America's hand so that he could scoop Astra up, claim his seat, and then set her in his lap. "We were safe, though. Remember?"

"Yes, but you were talking for too long." Astra repeated, emphatically.

"Well, Aunt Ames and I were talking about the room in the woods. We had a lot to say."

"Oh, yeah, the room in the woods." Astra nodded. "That's where the bad guy came."

Maxon's eyes slowly swept the table, meeting every single person's concerned expressions in turn.

"Yep, Aunt Ames told me about that." Maxon said. "She said he came into the very safe room."

"Yes, he came there." Astra confirmed. "He was scary." She started toying with two of the forks from Maxon's place setting.

Maxon swallowed so hard, America could hear it from where she sat next to him. She gave his elbow a gentle, encouraging squeeze, waiting for whatever Maxon would say next.

"Aunt Ames said that you guys went to hide in the bathroom."

"Yeah, we did." Astra said. "The bad guy was lookin for us."

"She said you kept the baby very safe."

Astra froze at this, the look on her face turning anguished. Suddenly her feelings were too advanced for her vocabulary, and when she did find words, she sounded devastated. "That was a bad place, Mackin, I don't want to go there anymore."

Maxon's heart actually shattered as he looked at her, if his expression was any indication, and he tugged her in and hugged her tightly. "You won't. You're _never_ going there ever again, I promise. You're safe, Astra, and you were so brave. I'm proud of you."

Down the table, Magda was unable to contain a sob, and stood, hurrying to excuse herself.

"Gramma!" Astra cried. "Don't go!"

"I'll be right back, sweetheart." Magda promised.

"No!" Astra screamed, heading quickly towards a tantrum. "Come back, Gramma!"

"It's okay, Astra, your gramma's okay." Maxon promised. "She just doesn't want to cry at the table. She'll be back in a minute."

"No, Gramma!" Astra screeched, panic overwhelming her, trying to break out of Maxon's grip and hurry after her grandmother.

"Astra, she's _safe_." Kenna said, sending an anxious look down the table. May answered the call for help. She stood and hurried after her mother, hoping to bring her back.

"AUNT MAY! NO!" This was too much, too soon. Astra dissolved into a full-out fit. She was yelling, crying, kicking, and squirming. Through it all, Maxon held her close.

It couldn't have been more than twenty seconds before May returned, followed immediately by Magda, who was horrified to see what her absence had done to Astra. "I'm here." Magda said, almost running to the far end of the table to be at Astra's side. "Astra, I'm back. I just needed a moment, I'm back. I'm _safe_."

"Aunt May!" Astra screamed, until May appeared at Maxon's side, too.

"Look, Astra, look! I just went to bring Gramma back. Now we're all here. Everything's okay."

Astra buried her wet face in Maxon's chest, hands clenched around the slack in his shirt. He rocked her, just as he had rocked America minutes before, and murmured soothing words, knowing his chest would rumble when he spoke and realizing that the sensation would be calming.

Astra steadily grew still, all that was left of her fit was an endless stream of tears and the occasional sad, soft crying groan of sorrow and unspeakable pain. No more screams, no more fight.

Maxon rocked and rocked her, never yielding for so much as a moment. Kenna had her face buried in her hands, James' mouth was a tight, grim line. No one at the table knew exactly what to do. They'd never seen Astra like this before.

Slowly, Maxon's stream of comforting words, the infinite procession of 'everything is alright' and 'we're safe' and 'everything is going to be fine' began to change. His words began to connect to one another as ideas. "The waffles are going to be here soon." he promised. "With extra syrup. And then you and Kile are going to play in the tree castle. It will be a lot of fun, and after you take a nap, you can go swimming, too. Soon it will be your birthday, and you'll turn four. You'll have a party and presents and cake and ice cream, and so much _fun_. After that, the baby will be born, and you can hug and kiss your baby cousin all day long. You can help me feed it and play with it and pick which outfits it wears. Then it will be Christmas, and we'll decorate a tree and put more presents under it than you've ever seen. There will be a big party, with beautiful gowns, and you'll be my date because Aunt Ames will have to stay upstairs with the little brand new baby. But that's okay, we'll bring some pie back for her." the words were slow, like a lullaby set to the soothing cadence of his voice.

Astra turned her head out of his chest and wiped her eyes, hard, with the backs of her hands. Hiccoughing, she admitted, "I'm going to be a big sister."

Maxon wiped her nose with his handkerchief and said, "I heard about that." He peered at her closely, watching her for signs of another breakdown.

"After my birthday, mommy's going to have a baby in her tummy like Aunt Ames, and when it's strong enough, it will come out and be my baby brother."

"Or maybe a baby sister?" Maxon suggested.

"Yeah." Astra nodded.

"That sounds really good, doesn't it?" his tone was hopeful.

"Yes."

"That's going to be great, I can't wait." Maxon said.

"Me, too." Astra agreed, with a little smile.

Maxon grinned back at her and took her face in his hands, pressing a firm kiss to her forehead. "I love you. So, so much."

"I love you, too, Mackin." Astra said, earnestly. "I love you a hundred!"

"A hundred?" Maxon chuckled. "Well, I love you a _million_."

Her eyes widened at the thought, and it truly wasn't fair. This was the first she'd ever heard of a 'million', it was the biggest number she'd ever known, she certainly couldn't count higher than that. "I love you a squillion!" she determined, excited and pleased with herself for outdoing him.

He laughed outright, a sound that warmed America from the inside out, for all he was wheezing and shaking at the invented number. "Good heavens, I'm a lucky man. Surely I'm the first King in all of Illéan history to be loved a squillion."

"You love me a squillion?" she checked, nervously.

"I love you a squillion and five." he reassured her, hugging her to his chest yet again.

Breakfast arrived at that moment, and thank goodness. Every person in that room needed a good meal. Astra and Maxon sat together for the entirety of the hour, sharing _everything_. Maxon was in charge of cutting up waffles and pouring syrup and making sure Astra could reach the apple juice. She made sure he knew if he was eating too quickly for her to get her fair share, too.

America was surprised and relieved that everyone seemed to be finding their appetites. Even she couldn't resist the smell of bacon. In her first trimester, it had sickened her. Now, in her third trimester, it practically sang to her.

A note arrived while America and Astra were working their way through a shared cinnamon roll, and Maxon was attacking a plate of hash browns with vigor. Justin, Maxon's butler and Mary's fiancé, delivered it directly to Maxon.

It was a slim, small square of paper, and Maxon smiled when he read it. "Ames, is the baby still not moving?"

"No." America said. "The baby hasn't moved all night." Another on a long list of worries.

"Dr. Ashlar says to drink a tall glass of orange juice with breakfast, and reminds you to get plenty of rest. Allow your body to recover after last night."

America's heart trembled at the thought of 'last night', threatening to break again. As if it could be ripped into even tinier pieces.

"Alright, then." America agreed, and Justin poured a glass of orange juice for her before clearing a few empty dishes and leaving the family to their breakfast feast.

America drank the juice while splitting the gooey center of the cinnamon roll with Astra and helping her spear her piece with a fork. Astra was pretty good with utensils, but she wasn't exactly the most dexterous girl in the world, yet. Her hand-eye coordination was still very much in development, and she needed some help when it came to messier, gooier foods.

They finished their shared cinnamon roll and America had moved on to splitting a doughnut with Gerad when she felt it. Not a kick or a punch, but _definitely_ a squirm.

Her hand flew to her mouth and she almost started crying _again_, this time out of pure relief.

"What's wrong?" Maxon asked, dropping the spoonful of scrambled egg he'd been arranging for Astra.

America choked on her response.

"Ames, what's wrong? Is it the baby?" May asked, eyes glued to America's hand. America realized, belatedly, that she was clutching her belly.

"Nothing's wrong." America's voice came out weak, but she laughed. "The baby moved. That's all."

"Nothing hurts?" Maxon clarified.

"No. Nothing hurts." America sighed, relief coursing through her veins as she felt the baby wiggle again. "Everything is fine."

For the first time since the rebel siren sounded, she believed that.

* * *

There was still a good hour left until dawn, which meant Astra needed to wait a little longer for her playdate with Kile to begin. She was more than content, however, with following the family up to America's and Maxon's rooms for nap time.

America, Maxon, Astra and May piled into Maxon's bed; Kenna, Magda, and Gerad took America's bed, and James took one of the couches in the family room, needing a little more room to spread out with his additional height. America also suspected it reassured him to know that, if a rebel broke into the room, he'd be there to defend the family first.

Astra was pleased to see what had become of the 'fun chair', and she and Kenna rocked in it for at least ten minutes. They both very much approved of the baby's new room, Astra even volunteered to sleep there once the baby came, so it wouldn't be afraid or lonely.

When America overheard this, she shook her head at her sister. "I swear, Ken, one of these days… Maxon and I are just going to keep her."

"I know." Kenna smiled, peppering Astra's head with kisses. "She's the best girl in the world."

"I love you a millan, Mommy." Astra said, patting Kenna's face.

Kenna grinned, "A million, really?"

"Yeah."

"What about a squillion?"

"No, I just love Mackin a squillion." she considered. "And the baby." she thought some more. "And my brother."

Kenna sighed and met America's eyes. "Think Dr. Ashlar can put me on some of those fertility vitamins you were taking? I think we're going to have an overeager big sister on our hands, and I don't want to have to explain to her what's taking so long."

America laughed, "Definitely."

America agreed to let Astra borrow the baby's new stuffed bunny, since the baby wasn't born yet. Astra thanked the baby profusely and then snuggled in for her nap.

America expected everyone to have trouble sleeping, but they all passed out pretty quickly once the lights were off. Not a single nightmare reported.

When she awoke, there was light creeping through the drawn shades. She felt heavy, like she'd slept long enough to completely relax. Maxon was gone from her side, though she still had arms around her. May and Astra were both holding her tightly as they slept. Astra's mouth hung wide open, the most adorable baby snores coming from her throat.

America heard low, masculine voices in the family room. Though she was by no means graceful, she eased herself out of bed as gently as possible, managed to avoid waking the other redheads, and then tiptoed to Maxon's door.

She found her missing husband, along with James and Gerad, all looking sleep-tousled. It seemed like they were having a little, miniature family meeting. So far, America was undetected.

Maxon was speaking softly. "I'm _really_ proud of you. I know that was hard to do, and part of you probably wanted to run and hide. You shouldn't have had to be in charge of barricading that door, but you were, and you did an amazing job."

"I didn't want to hide." Gerad said, honestly. He was the most earnest kid she'd ever met. "I was really scared, but I didn't want to hide. I wanted to do more."

James nodded, "That's going to make you a great guard someday. Or great at whatever else you want to do."

"As soon as I realized that Officer Rivers was trusting me to defend the bathroom, my brain just switched. It was like a puzzle or something." Gerad explained. "I made a strategy."

"A strategy that bought us the time we needed." James said, seriously. "Turning off the light, hiding us under the shower curtain, throwing the toilet paper around… It distracted that rebel just long enough for Officer Rivers to take him out."

Gerad nodded, hands folded, leant down with his elbows in his knees. "I just… I had to protect my sisters. And my mom. _Everyone_. That guy wasn't just coming after the Queen, he was coming after my family."

"I'm going to propose you for a royal commendation." Maxon announced. "It would mean a celebration in your honor, and someday, if you decide to become a guard, an extra patch on your uniform."

"…I didn't…" Gerad shook his head. "I only did what anyone would have done—"

"You stayed calm under extreme pressure. Not just _anyone _could have done what you did." Maxon said. "But if you don't want the attention, I understand. Just know that you deserve it. You, too, James."

James leaned back, surprised. "What? Why? I was on the floor with the womenfolk."

Maxon smirked at that, and shook his head. "America told me that you covered her. When it looked like the assailant was going to break through, you put yourself between her and the gun. Between our baby and a bullet."

"Coincidence." James pretended. "Astra was practically in Ames' lap. If I wanted to protect my baby, I had to shield yours, too."

Maxon shook his head, amused. "I don't think I quite believe you. What do you think, Ger?"

"He's lying." Gerad grinned. "He would take a bullet for Ames anytime."

"That's what I thought. You put yourself between that gun and my wife. That gets you a royal commendation, if you want it."

"I wonder what everyone at the office would think of that." James scratched his chin, amused.

"We're downplaying this rebel attack." Maxon continued. "We wouldn't have to tell anyone what the commendation was for, specifically. If you want everyone to know, that's one thing, but if you'd rather keep things private—"

"Private." James nodded.

"Definitely." Gerad agreed.

"Then it could just be a small celebration. Family, friends, a few of my advisers. A plaque for services rendered to the Crown. That kind of thing."

Gerad sighed, "I don't want a plaque for last night. I don't want to think about it anymore."

James nodded. "I'm with Ger. A party celebrating what happened last night would just feel… wrong."

Maxon considered this, leaning back in his seat. "So… no commendations, then?"

"Nah, I don't think so." James shook his head.

Gerad nodded, "Yeah, let's just move on."

Maxon frowned heavily. "I don't know how… you saved America's life… my wife, my queen, the mother of my unborn child…"

James grinned and stood, offering Maxon a hand up. "In normal families, instead of commendations, we give hugs."

Maxon took the hand up and embraced each of his brothers in turn. Then he rounded on James, "You're telling me crazed bunker attacks happen in normal families?"

Gerad laughed, and James ran a hand through his messy hair. "'Thank you' is enough, Maxon. It doesn't feel like it, but it is. The thing is, even though you're the King and you have to think about what's best for the country, the crown, and your family before you ever get around to thinking about what's best for yourself; I know you would have done the same for Kenna. If you'd been there, and I'd been here, you'd have covered Kenna and Astra, I know you would have. You wouldn't have thought twice."

"I'd have covered _Ames_." Maxon shook his head.

"I covered my wife, too, Maxon, that's not the point I'm making." James said. "If the gun was pointed at Kenna, you'd have taken the bullet. If the rebel mistook which redhead to aim for, you wouldn't have stepped aside once you realized that the gun wasn't pointed at your wife."

"You're right."

"You'd have covered Kenna, just like I covered Ames. And I know that, because we're family. And, because we're family, 'thank you' really is enough."

Maxon considered this, considered that he had a _real_ family now, and finally nodded. "Thank you, James." James nodded, smiling. "Thank you, Gerad." Gerad grinned, toothily.

James slouched back down on the couch, "This is great. I love having dudes to hang out with."

"Dudes?" Maxon made a face. In his entire life, he'd never been called a 'dude'.

"Now all we need is May to find herself a husband, and we'll finally stop being so outnumbered by the Singer women." James schemed. "We could stage a takeover."

Maxon scoffed, "A takeover of what, exactly?"

"May _does_ have a crush on that guard!" Gerad gushed, like he thought it was hilarious.

"What? Which guard?" Maxon asked, voicing America's exact question as if he and she shared a single hive mind.

"Officer Rivers! She couldn't stop looking at him the whole time we were in the bunker, _and _she helped him on the way back to the Palace."

"He'd just been shot." James reminded Gerad.

"She was _blushing_." Gerad grinned, almost maniacally. "Trust me, she thinks he's _cute_." he said the last word mockingly.

Maxon and James met each other's eyes, and seemed to be in total agreement. "She could do worse." Maxon said, with a light shrug.

"Yeah, Rivers is _way _better than that guy she was dating last summer." James shuddered at the memory.

"Plus, I control Rivers." Maxon mused. "I can personally guarantee he never lays a finger on May until after some kind of marriage proposal."

"See?" James grinned. "This is gonna work out perfectly."

America determined that this was as good a time as any to make her presence known, and maybe to stop them from plotting to steal any more of May's freedom. She slipped into the room, gathering her sleep-tousled red hair over one shoulder as she went. Maxon liked it when she did this, because it caused her to lift both of her arms up, and for a moment, everything below her chest was an abundance of belly.

"Ames." Maxon grinned. "You're awake."

"What time is it?" the curtains were drawn in here, too, the darkness only disturbed by the slivers of bright, disturbing light that managed to creep through.

"Just after ten o'clock." Maxon said. "You were down for four hours."

"I feel good. I feel so much better." America confessed.

"I'm glad. Perhaps this afternoon you can join Astra for one of her naps? Her sleep schedule has been seriously undermined by those rebels." Maxon said. It was sort of a joke, in that it was a gross understatement. Much more than Astra's sleep schedule had been threatened by the rebels.

"I would like that."

He nodded and rubbed her back, creating friction and warmth. "I'm glad you're up. I was about to wake you, against my better judgement. Aspen's sent word up from the dungeons. Our captive is feeling talkative."

"That's good."

"Are you _positive_ that you want to involve yourself in this part of the proceedings?" Maxon asked. "I could bring you a detailed transcription of every word we say, and it would spare you having to physically be in the dungeons."

"No. I want to be there."

"Ames, I understand-"

"I want to look in his eyes and accuse him of his crimes."

"Absolutely not." Maxon said, firmly. "On that I will not negotiate. He will sit on the other side of a oneway mirror, he will never set eyes on you."

America could tell this was an instance of her husband Maxon morphing into overprotective father Maxon. Everything about his posture suggested defending his cave-wife and cave-baby from a wooly mammoth attack, it was positively primal.

"Alright. I can still look into his eyes from the other side of the mirror, can't I?"

Maxon shifted uncomfortably. "I suppose."

"I'm going. I'll leave if it becomes too much, I promise."

Maxon swallowed, seeming to almost physically swallow his pride. "That seems like a more than adequate arrangement for my partner, my co-monarch, and the person whose advice I value above all others. It's just a little hard to bear for my extremely pregnant wife." he explained his reluctance.

America rolled her eyes, "If you genuinely think that being pregnant has softened me, you are shockingly confused. This baby may be sucking my physical energy dry, but I've never been more of a mother tiger defending her den than I am now. Pregnancy is an extreme trial by fire, Maxon, and right now, I'm a warrior. Don't let my newfound obsession with baby socks confuse you."

"Baby socks?" Maxon grinned, pulling her closer to him.

"They're so tiny!" America gushed, and enjoyed the vibration of his laughing mouth as it connected with her smiling lips.

* * *

After the mad sprint to the woods the previous night, America had expected the descent to the dungeons to be a cake walk, particularly without her niece on her hip. She'd overestimated her own stamina, though, her body's reserves were still greatly depleted from the night before. Perhaps there had been something to Dr. Ashlar's note, advising her to get plenty of rest and allow her body to recover. She was seriously considering starting to listen to that man.

Maxon heard her labored breathing, and kept his eyes glued to her body for signs that she needed to stop. Though she didn't have a spare arm available to take his (her left hand gripping the bannister to keep her balance, her right pressed firmly against the bottom of her bump, supporting it, keeping things steady so that there would be less jostling on the baby), Maxon kept a hand firmly on her lower back, anchoring her as she went. She was regretting wearing those heels now.

Finally, they made it down. Down, below the subbasement, below the destroyed safe room, below top-secret security rooms America had never even seen before.

"You might have to carry me back up." America joked, but it wasn't a joke, and Maxon knew it when the words came out wheezy and labored.

"That won't be a problem at all."

"Really?" she liked having her mind off of her thundering heartbeat. "I'm sort of... ungainly at the moment."

"Don't insult me, Ames, remember? I can lift 300 pounds."

"I'm starting to feel as if I weigh 500 pounds." America complained.

"You don't." Maxon promised. "You've gained weight exactly as projected by Dr. Ashlar, you've had a model pregnancy. You're perfect." he added the last words with a hint of adoration in his tone.

America smiled over at him, but decided that she really would be better off if she saved her breath.

"We're nearly there." Maxon reassured her. "This is the last flight."

When they rounded the clearing at the dungeon level, America found a well-lit hallway with white tiles for flooring and grey painted walls. It wasn't exactly what she'd been expecting. She'd thought of stone walls and torches, not fluorescent lighting and the distinct feel of an office building. She shouldn't have been so naive, this Palace wasn't built in medieval times, it wasn't an ancient _castle _for crying out loud.

Aspen was standing at the end of the hallway in front of a reinforced, metal door. He was pacing, rubbing a heavily bandaged hand thoughtfully.

"Aspen?" America called out, still recovering her breath.

He turned at the sound of her voice. "Mer! I can't believe Maxon let you come all the way down here."

"It was touch and go." America confessed.

"I can't believe you _made it_ all the way down here." he added.

"That was touch and go, too." America said, with a grim smile. "And don't be too impressed. Maxon might have to carry me all the way back up."

Aspen smiled, "If he won't, I will."

"I will." Maxon grumbled. "So keep your hands off my wife."

America grinned at this, but faltered when she got a good look at how thickly bandaged Aspen's hand was.

"The fire?" America asked, frowning.

"Yeah, I had to move some fallen debris out of our way so that we could get out. It's not as bad as it looks, the doctor gave me some great medicine. It doesn't even hurt now, I just have to keep it wrapped for a few days and then let him check it over and see how it's healing."

America bit her lip, worrying over that hand as she considered him. "Have you spoken with Lucy?"

"Not since the attack."

"Call her now." America insisted. "We can wait. I need a moment, anyway."

Maxon nodded, in full agreement. "Call your wife while we get situated in the observation room. Use the phone in 708."

America didn't know what '708' was, but each door in this dungeon hallway was labeled with a number. America assumed that, behind one of these doors was a room with a phone.

Aspen agreed instantly, which went a long way to show just how worried he was after last night. Lucy had definitely heard about the fire by now, and he hated to worry her.

When Aspen was down the hall on his way to the room with the phone, Maxon opened a plain, white, wooden door leading to an observation room. The reinforced metal door Aspen had been pacing in front of led to the interrogation room on the other side of what America assumed was a one-way mirror.

She could see through the dim glass to an empty room on the other side. Inside, there seemed to be a table, three chairs, and a yellow light burning overhead.

"I expected... I don't know... chains?" America smiled as Maxon pulled a leather rolling chair over for her and held it steady while she sank down onto it.

"There are chains, somewhere." Maxon mused. "But they're not a part of this. At this point, the chains have already been used."

"Hm." America was glad, again, for her weak imagination when it came to torture.

Maxon massaged her shoulders for the two minutes it took Aspen to touch base with Lucy. The room was cool, climate controlled air being pumped in from above. America felt claustrophobic for just a moment, when she thought of how far underground she was, how far she'd have to go to get fresh air. Maxon's hands helped that moment to pass quickly, though. Their presence on her muscles reminded her that he'd carry her anywhere, across continents or through war zones, if she needed him to.

Aspen reappeared, taking another leather, wheeled chair in front of a control board, and Maxon pulled up the last for himself.

"Is she alright?" America asked, as Aspen flipped switches and, with his good hand, made adjustments that she didn't understand.

"Wonderful, now that I've spoken with her. Thank you." Aspen said, pulling a small microphone, attached to the board, over to his mouth. He pressed a button, a light flashed, he released the button. Then he picked up a small earpiece and clipped it onto his right ear. "Okay, so, Mer. This microphone feeds into my earpiece. You push this button and then talk." Aspen showed her the button.

"I…push that button?" America asked.

"Maxon and I are going to be in the room with the rebel."

"Maxon, you're not—" America argued.

"I'll be perfectly safe." Maxon reassured her.

"I don't care about that." America shook her head, annoyed. "I mean, I _do_ care about that, but I never thought you wouldn't be. I mean that you're the King of Illéa, yours is one of the largest and greatest nations in the world, you don't have time to interrogate a teenager."

"I have time to interrogate this one." Maxon said, darkly. "He threatened Astra. He knows things about the rebels. I want to hear it straight from him."

"Fine, so long as you know that this demeans you. You're too great a king to bother yourself with captured grunts from rebel militant organizations."

Maxon met her gaze and smiled. "You think more of me than anyone else."

"That's just not true, everyone knows how great you are."

"But you never fail to make sure I remember." Maxon stood, leant down and kissed her lips, and then righted himself. "I'm ready, Leger, let's get this over with. As my wife mentioned, I'm a great king with many demands on my time."

Aspen nodded once, so deeply it could have been a small bow, "I'll have them bring him in."

Aspen disappeared out into the hallway, and Maxon poured a glass of iced water for America to drink. "Stay hydrated." Maxon insisted. "If you think of anything, tell Aspen. He'll bring it up in the interrogation."

From the other side of the glass, America saw the reinforced door open. Two guards led the captured rebel, reddish blonde stubble now covering his jaw as well as his head, into the other room. Aspen came back into the control room with America and Maxon as the guards unlocked the handcuffs, ordered the rebel to sit, and then exited the room.

The teenaged rebel sat there, staring at his own reflection, looking like he was about to cry.

"How old do you think he is?" America asked.

"It doesn't matter." Aspen said, curtly.

"He can't be older than Jemmy." America said, pointedly.

"So what? He was trying to kill you."

"And Jemmy was stealing fruit off a cart, trying not to starve."

"It's not the same." Aspen couldn't believe she'd brought that up.

"We don't know _what_ it is, yet. That's all I'm saying." America said, as the baby squirmed. Dr. Ashlar's orange juice trick at breakfast had worked, the baby was back in action now. Even after her nap, it was still active. She was glad, she liked knowing that it was there, healthy, and that she was keeping it safe.

Neither of the men looked swayed by her words, they were still staring at the rebel with clenched jaws and clenched fists, but hopefully they'd heard her. That was all America wanted from them, at that moment.

Finally, when the boy looked as uncomfortable as possible at having been left alone in the quiet room for so long, perhaps concerned that he'd been forgotten forever down there, Aspen motioned for Maxon to follow him to the far end of the control room. There was another steel reinforced door. Aspen unlatched the bolts, opened the door, and Maxon and Aspen walked into the interrogation room.

As Aspen closed the door behind them, the rebel's jaw dropped in terror. He hadn't been expecting to see the King again.

"We've been told you're ready to talk." Aspen said, approaching the table and waiting for Maxon to sit before he sat.

The rebel just gulped.

"Start with your name." Aspen said, and America wondered if she was the only one familiar enough with his voice to hear the annoyance in it. No doubt Lucy would have heard, if she'd been there.

"I'm called Marin." The rebel said, his young voice rough after the hours he'd spent locked up.

"Is that your name?" Aspen asked, shortly.

"It's what I'm called." he replied, defiantly.

"Don't make this hard, boy." Aspen warned. "You don't want to do this the hard way. Tell us your damn name."

"It doesn't matter, the revolution knows me as Marin. No one will know who you're talking about if you call me Fisher." he said, urgently.

"The revolution? You mean the rebels?" Aspen asked.

"Yes. That's what _you_ call us. We don't see ourselves as rebels, we see ourselves as—"

"Revolutionaries?" Aspen supplied, narrowing his eyes.

Fisher did not reply.

"Well then, Fisher, can I get a full name, age, and province of origin?"

"Fisher Tracks, fifteen years old, Midston."

"Tracks?" Aspen asked. "A Seven?"

"I _was_." Fisher said.

"Were you stripped of your caste?" Aspen asked, with mild interest.

"Yeah, when my parents died and no one would take me in." he frowned. "Castes don't matter in the revolution."

Maxon cleared his throat, "Sevens are gone, anyway. Sevens and Eights have been absorbed by the Sixes. Eventually all of the castes will be gone."

"Eventually." Fisher rolled his eyes. "We don't have time for that in the South, we're dying _now_. If we want to be free, it's today or it's never."

"Is that what they told you when you joined?" Aspen had no sympathy in his tone. He'd had rough choices to make in life, too. Honestly, though, he was lucky he'd been drafted. They all were. If Aspen had never been drafted, he wouldn't have been at the Palace to save America and Maxon during_ the_ rebel attack. He wouldn't have met Lucy, and he would still be struggling to get by, supporting his family as best he could in Carolina. Aspen had won a lottery every bit as much as America had, when she was Selected. This kid had no such luck.

Fisher didn't answer. He just stared at his red chaffed wrists. "I'll answer all your questions. I'll tell you everything I know."

"Good." Aspen said, shortly.

"But I want immunity from execution."

Aspen laughed, roughly. "The penalty for attempted regicide is death."

"I've been told. But I don't want to die."

"You'd rather spend the rest of your days in jail?" Aspen asked.

The boy shrugged.

"You're not in a position to negotiate, can you see that?" Aspen continued. "You're going to answer our questions, and in exchange, we're not going to have you whipped or burned before you die."

The boy blinked, hard. He didn't like these terms. He worked very hard not to sound afraid. "My information is all I have left. I won't just give it away. Then I'll have nothing."

"You should have thought of that before you attacked the Palace."

"I was following orders."

"Then you should have thought of that before you joined the rebels."

"What else was I going to do? Starve?" the boy demanded.

America clicked the button, "His sentence will be determined later, you can't negotiate that with him."

Aspen nodded, "Your sentence will be determined later, I'm not in charge of that. I can't negotiate with you."

"Then take me back to my cell. I might not hold up forever in that awful position, but I can last a few more days. That's all Spades will need."

"Spades?" Aspen asked.

"You know… the King of Spades? We call him Spades. None of us go by our real names, it's safer that way."

"Jefferson Potter?" Maxon asked, spitting out the words.

Fisher shrugged. "I don't know his name. He's Spades, that's all I know. He likes to leave notes lying around for you. He's the one who sent me to the third floor last night."

Maxon narrowed his eyes, patience gone at the reminder of this. "Tell us what you know."

"No. Not until I know you won't kill me."

Aspen made an annoyed sound. Maxon leant back in his chair and crossed his arms. "Fine. I won't kill you."

"Write it down." The boy said, looking up, hope in his eyes for the first time. "Write it down, that I won't die after I tell you what I know. Give your word as King."

Maxon did not like this. Not at all. He'd clearly been planning to lie to the rebel, to have him executed later.

America pushed the button. "Come back here."

Aspen turned to Maxon and pointed with his thumb towards the door.

"We'll be back." Aspen said, and he and Maxon reappeared in the control room with America. Once the door was closed, America sighed.

"Don't lie to him, Maxon."

"He won't talk if I don't." Maxon said, scanning the room for a piece of paper and a pen.

"No, I mean… give him what he's asking for. Let him live out his days in prison or join the army or something."

Maxon looked at her like she'd grown another head. "Put a known rebel amongst the ranks of our soldiers?"

"I don't think he was trying to kill anyone, Maxon, I think he was just doing what the adults in his life told him to do."

"He was in _Astra__'__s bedroom_." Maxon snarled.

"And if he'd wanted to kill her, he could have." America said, though the words were like sandpaper in her throat. "But he didn't. And he didn't kill James and Kenna, and he didn't kill anyone. He was caught fleeing through the forrest, not pointing a gun at anyone. He's offering us real information, information that will help you end this once and for all. That's got to be worth something."

"I don't need to spare his life, and he doesn't deserve to be spared." Maxon said, bluntly. "He wanted our baby dead."

"He wanted freedom, food, and authority figures to watch out for him. Those authority figures told him that the only way to be free was to break into the Palace and try to destroy the monarchy. He's _fifteen_, Maxon, he believed them."

Aspen pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to be patient. "Ames, your opinion is valuable and your feelings are valid, but you have these hormones right now…"

America's eyebrows rose. "What?"

"Not that you're being hormonal." Aspen clarified, "But you have these mothering hormones right now, getting you ready to protect and love your baby. That's wonderful, but I think it's throwing you off the trail of what's actually happening right now. If this kid had seen you and Astra in the woods last night, he'd have killed you. All three of you."

"Did he even have a gun?" America asked, pointedly.

"…He was not found with a gun on his person, that doesn't mean—"

"Shut up, Aspen." America snapped, not needing his condescending explanation.

"Ames, I will not bend on this." Maxon said, finality in his tone.

"You're going to kill every single southern rebel, even if they offer to help you?" America clarified.

"Yes. Because they've committed treason, and the penalty for treason is death."

"The penalty for cheating on you during the Selection was death, too." America said, shifting slightly in her seat so as to present him with both she and Aspen, living proof that mercy blesses those who give it _and_ those who receive it.

"This is different. The penalty for treason _should _be death. The penalty for what you did… we just need to revisit those rules before our baby's selection." Maxon said, dismissively. This wasn't a dilemma for him.

"Don't you think the south has suffered enough?" America asked. "Isn't it time to lay down the guns, stop killing each other, and start helping each other heal? K was created because of this rebel witch hunt, and this boy's life is now forfeit, too. If you kill all of their men, Maxon, you'll just make more enemies. More rebels will rise, take up arms against you _and_ against our baby, our baby's children, and then our great-grandchildren. It will _never_ end. Someone has to show forgiveness. Someone needs to be great enough to allow for mercy where mercy can be shown. As far as we know, this boy's worst crime was joining a group he thought would save his people, and save himself. Can you honestly say that you don't understand him?"

Maxon was pale now, angry and conflicted and tense. "I don't need to understand him."

"You don't need to understand how the rebels manage to recruit new members?" America clarified.

"I will _not _forgive these people!" Maxon burst. "They killed my parents! They nearly killed me! They abducted my citizens and filmed their executions, and they tried to kill you and my baby, with Astra right there in the room!"

"And what part did this boy have in that, exactly? He was there, but what did he actually do? You think he killed your parents when he was 12 years old? You think he was behind the camera while K executed those citizens?" America demanded.

"I don't care about what individual part he had, that's _not_ the point." Maxon insisted, angrily.

"You _should_ care. That's the point, for me. You should know who the real enemies are, Maxon. This boy might be a rebel, but he's not the actual enemy. You should know that." America took a long drink of water, both to cool herself down and to buy herself a moment. "Do whatever you think is best, I won't hold anything against you. But earlier you said that you value my advice above all others, so I thought I might as well advise you."

Maxon worked his locked jaw back and forth, folding his arms tightly. He looked down. He looked up. Every breath sounded loud and angry as if flew in and out of his flared nostrils. Finally, he reached down and snatched up a blank sheet of paper and a pen and threw the door to the interrogation room wide open.

The rebel boy jumped, startled.

Aspen followed, a deep, unhappy frown on his face as he closed the door behind them.

"Tell me who you've killed." Maxon insisted, angrily.

The boy blinked, surprised. "I hav… I nev… I didn't _kill _anyone."

"Ever?" Maxon clarified.

"Never, I wasn't allowed to have a weapon—"

"Shut up, I don't care!" Maxon snapped. "Tell me about the property you destroyed."

"…I'm, um… I was a scout, that was my only job."

Maxon did not deign to ask what a scout was. He glared until the boy explained.

"They didn't give me the stuff to destroy anything. I wasn't allowed to have a gun or a lighter or anything like that. My job was to sneak ahead and locate resources, like farms with food or rivers for fresh water, or to find soldier camps to avoid or attack—"

"How many did you attack—"

"I didn't attack any—"

"Those deaths were as good as on your hands." Maxon insisted, furious. "Those were fathers, brothers, and sons of Illéa. How many?"

"I never stayed to see what happened, I was sent ahead." the rebel explained, afraid of how little he knew. If he didn't know enough, he couldn't be saved.

"But you were in the Palace last night." Maxon's eyes narrowed, thinking of Astra, of how frightened she had been. Of the tears on her cheeks, the way her little heart had pounded in her tiny chest until she'd made it safely into Maxon's arms. "You were in my niece's bedroom! She saw you!"

"I wasn't going to hurt her-" he promised. "I just needed a way in."

"A way in?" Maxon demanded.

"We didn't know where the Queen's new room was, and our old passageway was blocked after Haddy went rogue, that little girl's room has the tree out the window, that's why I was there."

"Oh, _much_ better." Maxon spat. "You were only passing through my baby niece's room on your way to murder my pregnant wife."

"I could never have murdered her, I _wasn__'__t allowed to carry weapons._" he explained again, emphatically, trying to cut through Maxon's palpable anger to reach a rational part of the King's brain. "We had specific instructions. Spades told us to bring her alive. He wanted to kill her himself, and to turn this palace into her pyre. She was supposed to burn here."

Maxon was having an out-of-body experience, America could see it. His anger had surpassed anything she'd ever seen in him before. Before Aspen could stop him, Maxon reared back and punched the rebel as hard as he could, in the jaw.

The boy fell to the ground, and that's when America noticed that, not only was Aspen unconcerned with stopping Maxon, Aspen was actually gearing up to throw a few punches of his own, ignoring his burned hand in favor of the burning anger he felt.

America raised herself from her seat as quickly as possible and hurried through the reinforced steel door, just as Aspen landed a sickening kick to the rebel's stomach.

"That's enough!" She called out to all three of them.

They froze like schoolboys caught roughhousing when they were supposed to be studying, all three of them.

"Can you stand, Fisher?" America asked, keeping her tone clipped.

"Yes, ma'am." He gasped, drinking in the sight of his queen, standing tall and round before him.

"Then return to your seat. The same goes for the both of you." She turned her glare alternately on Aspen and Maxon.

"Ames, get back behind the glass." Maxon said, teeth gritted hard as he raised himself up to his chair.

America rolled her eyes, "As if that boy could lay a finger on me with the two of you in here, high on testosterone and righteous indignation."

"Do what you're told for once in your life!" Maxon raged.

America lifted her chin as she turned her gaze on her husband. She didn't say a word. She didn't have to. He knew that if he continued to try to bully her, he'd be in for a very, _very _negative experience in his marriage.

"Mer-" Aspen tried.

"I want to know what he has to tell us, but if Maxon dislocates his jaw, we're going to have a much more difficult time using this captive to our advantage, aren't we?" America said, pointedly.

She stepped through to the observation room, downed the rest of her water, and returned with the cup of ice.

"For your jaw." She handed it to the boy.

Maxon practically pouted as he shook out his injured knuckles, completely ignored by his wife.

The boy accepted the glass and pressed it to the bloom of red on his cheek, but his round eyes stayed glued to America. He couldn't believe he was seeing her in real life.

America turned to Aspen, "I'll take your chair, Commander."

She'd never pulled rank on him before, but her use of his title confirmed that he could not, in any way, argue. He almost snarled as he reluctantly stood and offered his chair to her. She lowered herself carefully down and Aspen ripped the earpiece out of his ear before returning to the control room and dragging a chair in behind him.

"Now then," America said. "King Maxon has agreed to grant you your request and spare you from execution for your crimes of treason and attempted regicide. He's just trying to get a feel for what other crimes you've committed that might also warrant execution.

"I'm a scout. …I _was _a scout. All I did was relay information." The boy insisted.

"Fine. We will be looking into your record, and if we find that that isn't true, if we find that you've committed other crimes worthy of a death penalty, you will not be immune from those. Do you understand? If you're lying right now, you're as good as dead. If you tell us, we can still negotiate." America said.

"I'm not lying."

"Okay." America turned to her husband, expectantly.

Maxon looked like he would rather have chewed off his own arm than pick up that pen, but he sloppily, begrudgingly wrote,

_This treasonous rebel, Fisher Whatever, can__'__t be sentenced to death for his role in the Palace attack last night. He can still be tortured, though. _

— _Maxon Schre__— _(the rest was a squiggle, he couldn't be bothered with the A, V, or E)

Maxon slammed the paper on the middle of the table and the rebel looked it over, slowly mouthing the words as he went along. It was clear that he could barely read, and Maxon's scrawl was making it even harder. Nervous, he looked up at America.

"Take it." America encouraged. "That's yours now. It's good enough." she cast a disparaging look at her husband. "I'm a witness and so is Commander Leger. You have Maxon's word, and you have my word. You're safe, presuming you haven't lied to us."

The rebel gulped and folded the paper neatly, almost reverently in his hands. He held on to it tightly, setting aside the cool relief of the cup of ice, not wanting to lose this promise or have it taken back from him.

"Now, Commander Leger has questions."

Aspen sighed heavily, knowing it was a done thing now. He couldn't stop the pardoning of this criminal. He was convincing himself to make the best of it as he said, "Okay. So, you said you were sneaking through _that beloved child__'__s _room because your passageway was blocked."

"Yes, that's what I was told. I swear, her room was just where the tree was. Her window was unlocked. If the second floor or fourth floor windows had been unlocked, I might have climbed through those. I tried not to wake her up, scouts are not supposed to be seen."

"You knew she was going to die later that night." Maxon argued.

"All I knew was that there would be fires, and that if we got… the King and Queen out into the open, we could end our struggle."

Maxon cast an annoyed, I-told-you-so look at America, who just shook her head. "Fisher… setting aside the fact that your struggles would magnify tenfold if the rebel leaders managed to overthrow the government—"

"It's the best chance we have!"

"It's _not_." America said. "But we're setting that aside, why didn't you know where my room was?"

"Our insiders deserted. I don't know how many we had, a few maybe. But they stopped reporting. Once they were inside the Palace, they were a lot safer. If you try to quit the rebels, they kill you unless they can't reach you. The Palace spies were pretty safe. Some of them probably agreed to spy on the Palace just so they'd have a safe place to get away."

"Would you have done that?" America asked.

Aspen shook his head, "That doesn't matter."

"Fine. Who were your palace spies?" America asked.

The boy hesitated. "I don't know their real names. I don't even know their fake names, except one. Haddy was her rebel name, they made an example of her."

"An example?" America asked. "They killed her?"

"Yeah."

"No one on staff has died…" America's words soured in her throat. That wasn't true. Someone on staff _had_ died. _Esther, _murdered by K in America's room.

They'd thought she'd been in the wrong place at the wrong time, but what if it was more complicated than that?

Maxon and Aspen were coming to that conclusion, too. Maxon swore, "I don't believe it."

"She was one of the most valuable." Fisher continued. "She was just supposed to be a low-level maid, but she got promoted and suddenly she had access to all of this information. Supposedly, she reported directly to Spades. It was a big honor. But she hated spying… her loyalties changed pretty quickly. The night Spades killed her, she was waiting to confront him. Maybe even trying to stop him. I don't know what happened, but, he took her out."

America didn't notice how long she'd been staring ahead, unblinking, until Maxon rested a hand on her back. "She was trying to stop him." Maxon said, soothingly.

"I know." America said. "I wish…" she didn't have to finish that sentence. He knew. She wished Esther was alive, America had so many questions now. Why join the rebels? Why abandon them? Why give up her own life to try to save America's?

Aspen continued, "So, K needed to send in a scout, someone who could find the Queen's new bedroom and point him in that direction. But if the idea was to burn the King and Queen out, why bother finding them in the first place?"

"I had to keep an eye on them, follow them… oh. _You_. I was supposed to follow _you_ until you made it out into the woods, and then signal the third wave of the attack to begin. But…"

"But?" Aspen pressed.

"The hidden stairs. I didn't know there were hidden stairs. I couldn't follow, so I climbed back into the tree and looked. I saw the Queen run, but the King… I mean _you_… I mean…" the boy faltered. He was having a hard time reconciling his idea of the abstract enemies known as 'the King and the Queen' with the two living bodies sitting across from him. It was finally occurring to his young mind that the King and Queen were actual people.

"So you signaled the next wave of the attack when the Queen made it into the woods." Aspen supplied.

"Yes."

"Fine." Aspen sighed. "Let's talk about K."

"Spades?"

"Spades, then." Aspen allowed. "What do you know about him?"

"He's crazy. And you're not allowed to defy him, ever." Fisher answered honestly. "We weren't allowed to kill the Queen or the King, he had this detailed scene he was going to play out."

"You mentioned." Maxon said, darkly. "The pyre."

"Yeah. You were supposed to be tied up and made to watch her burn, before being burned alive, too. Um… I think that's what happened to Spades' family. I mean, I don't know, but usually if one of us has an obsession like that, it has to do with the way our families died."

America nodded, "We think that's how his family died, too."

"I was on my way to our camp when I was caught, I can show you on a map." Fisher offered.

Aspen nodded, trying to contain his surprise and eagerness at this. He stood and crossed into the control room.

While he was gone, Fisher said, "I think Spades will keep trying. He wants to do this before the baby is born, he's obsessed with that."

"His wife died in childbirth." America explained. "He'd probably like a similar death for me, what with his apparent penchant for the poetic."

"How do you know that?" Fisher was impressed.

America decided on an air of mystery, "I know a lot of things, I'm the Queen."

"Oh. Right."

America smirked, amused that he'd just accepted that answer from her. He really thought she had unlimited power.

Aspen returned with a map and set it down on the table in front of Fisher. Fisher took the pen Maxon had abandoned and began studying the map carefully. He was still having a hard time reading, even though now the names of places were clearly printed.

America reached across, and both Maxon and Aspen flinched, barely stopping themselves from restraining her. "That's the Palace." She pointed the center of the map. "And those are the forests around us."

The rebel nodded, trying not to look too relieved as he counted his way to the location of the camps. Finally, he drew a circle. "There." he said.

"You're sure?" Aspen asked.

"Yes."

"Alright." Aspen took the map and pen. Fisher returned his clutch to the paper guaranteeing him his life.

Fisher took a breath, thinking things over carefully, "Spades likes parties. He thinks they show that you're out-of-touch and spoiled and soft. He wants to kill you at a party, it's… what was the word?"

"Poetic." America said.

"Yeah. It'll sound good when it goes down in history. A tyrant, ignoring his suffering people as he lives a fancy life, is killed at an overly-extravagant party."

"There was no party last night." Maxon reminded Fisher.

"Yeah, I know, that's why I think he's getting desperate. All our money is gone, our food is running out, our ammunition is low, and time is almost up. He wants to act before that baby is born." Fisher's eyes fell on America's stomach, and Maxon actually growled, placing an arm across America's body. Fisher dropped his eyes, a primal show of submission to Maxon's primal show of dominance. He continued, "Spades was going to do kill you both at Halloween, but Haddy stopped him."

"Alright." Maxon said. "That's enough. We get it."

America swallowed hard and asked the question burning a hole in her tongue. "_How_ did you know about the bunker? How did you know I'd be there with my family?"

Maxon's protective arm instantly morphed into a soothing arm as he drew it across her stomach and let it fall to clutch her hand in his and squeeze it reassuringly.

Fisher faltered, "I don't know for sure. I wasn't there. Spades talked a lot about documents, something they stole from the Palace when they snuck in one time. That's all I know." he looked up, worried, holding his paper even tighter. Afraid that his lack of information on this topic might be enough to revoke their decision, might be enough to cost him his life.

Aspen and Maxon both leant back in their seats, thinking this over. The answer occurred to them at the same time. Their eyes met over America's head.

"My birthday?" Maxon asked.

"Your birthday." Aspen agreed.

Maxon swore. "I wondered what they'd been after."

"Protocol. Guard rotations, plans, backup plans, bunker locations, the works." Aspen sighed. "Nothing was taken, I'll bet they copied the information over."

"I'll bet Esther had already turned against them by then." Maxon mused. "That's why she didn't sneak in and copy the information to send to them. They had to come in and take it because their spies weren't working anymore."

Aspen's watch chimed and he checked the time. "We're out of time, your meeting upstairs is about to start."

Maxon nodded and stood. "That's fine, I think we've gotten enough for now. What do you think?"

"For now." Aspen agreed, also standing.

Maxon offered America two hands up while Aspen held the rolling chair steady. America had to release Maxon and place one hand on her stomach and one on her back just to regain a center of gravity and not topple over the moment she stood upright.

Sighing, dismayed at herself, she turned to Aspen, "See to it that Fisher is allowed to keep that paper with him at all times." it was another command.

"Yes, ma'am." Aspen obeyed, tersely.

Maxon took another long look at the rebel, frowning tightly, then he looked at America and shook his head. He just couldn't believe she'd forced him to be so forgiving.

"Let's go, your Majesty." America said, tugging his arm. "You have several flights to carry me up, and a full contingent of advisers awaiting you."

Maxon's only response was to lead her away.

* * *

He wasn't angry at her, that wasn't the energy he was giving off as he carried her up. But he _was _angry. Maybe at himself, definitely at the rebels, but she didn't think he was angry at _her_. He was silent the whole time he was carrying her, safe and secure against his chest, except for one moment when she said, "I can walk up a few flights myself."

And Maxon replied, "No, I don't want you to."

And that was it.

He sat her back on her feet when they emerged in the hallway that led to security room A. She straightened her clothes, checked her hair, and then called out to him as he was already halfway down the hall.

"Maxon, wait."

He froze and turned back, face blank.

"I… had kind of a terrible night, and I don't want to go into a major adviser meeting right now if we're not on the same team. If you're mad at me or you need to say something, can you do it now? Here? I need you on my team when we go in there."

Maxon softened, and crossed over to her, holding out a hand. When he got close enough, he placed that hand on her face. "I'm _not _mad at you. And you're not just on my team, Ames, you _are _my team. It's you and me, and it always will be."

America let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. "Good."

"Feeling alright?" he checked.

"Fine."

"Lunch after this?"

"Absolutely. Your beloved Pumpkin head is probably getting a little anxious to see you again, as you weren't there when she woke up."

Maxon frowned, considering this. "She'll be okay, won't she? She scared me at breakfast this morning."

"I think so." America said. "It was… _really_ bad last night, but I think she'll be okay. We're just going to have to take extra special care of her for a while."

Maxon nodded, leant in for a long kiss, and then offered her his hand.

Together, they walked into the meeting.

Every security adviser was there, including Aspen, who'd seen to the rebel's lockup and then hurried up an alternate flight of stairs, still managing to beat Maxon's and America's slower, more careful pace. Gavril was there, August was there, Stavros was there, even _Silvia _was there. America did a double take when she found Dr. Ashlar in the room with them.

Everyone was up and bowing, the moment the door was opened for Maxon and America. Maxon helped America into her seat, then took his own. The multitude in the room sank down to their seats, too.

Stavros called the meeting to order. Aspen gave a summary of the relevant information they'd gathered from interrogating the rebel.

Maxon cleared his throat. "As I've mentioned, I'm done waiting for K to come at us again. We have a camp location, once it's verified it will be easy to raid. And we know what K is after, specifically. There is no reason to wait, when we have everything we need to draw him out."

Stavros opened the floor to suggestions. This was a mass brainstorming session, apparently.

One of the security advisers, a grey haired man with a large mustache spoke out. "Given what we've come to understand about the threat," he began, "The security council has put together a formal proposition."

"Proceed, Barton." Stavros allowed.

"One of the primary objectives of the rebel group is to assassinate her Majesty, and by virtue of assassinating her Majesty, assassinate the heir to the throne. They seek to destroy the future of the bloodline before destroying the source, his Majesty, King Maxon Schreave. We at the security council propose that their objective will be severely undermined upon the birth of his Majesty's heir, forcing the rebels to abandon their old plans and start again, finding some way to assassinate three people instead of two. Accepting that this would cause a disturbance to the rebellion's objectives tantamount to ruining all of their plans, we propose that her Majesty be escorted to the Atlin safe house immediately, give birth via cesarean this evening, and that the heir be sent to a third safe house of his Majesty's choosing, until such time as the rebel leader known as 'K' has been apprehended, charged, formally tried, and executed."

America couldn't believe what she was hearing, she simply stared, mouth agape. She wasn't the only one, there was shocked silence all around the table.

Barton continued, "We have invited her Majesty's physician to the meeting this evening to attest to the heir's health, and to the lack of negative side effects involved with delivering the heir this evening. Dr. Ashlar." Barton said, as if turning over the conversation to Dr. Ashlar.

Dr. Ashlar had clearly never heard of this plan prior to the meeting. Likely, the security council had not had time to discuss it with him beforehand. He looked bewildered, opening his mouth to say something and then finding himself speechless, twice.

Maxon met Dr. Ashlar's eyes and shook his head. It was a clear message. 'Don't'.

Dr. Ashlar nodded, grateful.

Maxon returned his attention to Adviser Barton. Then, it was as if something in the room snapped. All at once, there was an uproar the likes of which America had never heard. Every single person at the table, including Stavros, Maxon, and Silvia, began harshly worded tirades against the security council. Dr. Ashlar was the only person silent, other than America and the security council, and that was only because Dr. Ashlar was still too stunned to speak.

Finally, Maxon raised a hand, and the table fell quiet.

"Your solution." Maxon said, "Is to send my wife away, cut our unborn child from her belly, separate the new mother and baby, and wait for the rebels to admit defeat? That is the solution my _security council _has brought to me?" Maxon seethed. This was not the day, oh, this was _not _the day to test him like this.

"It's an elective cesarean, sir, women have been using this method of childbirth for centuries. Her Majesty might even prefer it to a long, drawn out labor." Barton added.

America did not deign to respond that no, she would not prefer having her baby ripped out of her body and taken away from her this evening, thank you very much. She didn't even blink. She glared, a queen of ice, until Barton appeared to understand her message. He bowed his head in understanding.

"Get out." Maxon said, to all five members of the security council. "Now."

Barton was flabbergasted, "Sir, the deliberations over K—"

"Did you hear what I said?" Maxon demanded, slamming both fists on the table. He knew that if he rose to his feet, the entire room would have to follow, but it was all he could do to keep himself in his chair.

"Yes, sir." Barton paled.

"Was I in anyway unclear? Did I stammer? Did I stutter?"

"No, sir."

"Get the _hell _out of my palace, and do not _ever _come back."

"Sir!" Barton exclaimed, "I have served on this council since your father—"

"I won't ask you again." Maxon looked likely to breathe fire. Mentioning Clarkson had been another strategic error.

"You cannot fire your entire security council at a time like this!" Barton reasoned. "Not with the rebels so near—"

"Leger." Maxon said, with a tilt of his head in Barton's direction.

Aspen leapt to attention, along with Carter, August, and several of Aspen's lieutenants. Maxon's former security council found themselves with armed escorts, handed off to guards on duty in the hallway. They were taken all the way to the edge of Palace premises, not permitted to gather their things, and no cars were called for them. They were made to walk until they could find someone in town to help them.

Aspen and the others were only gone for half a minute, seeing that the former advisers each had their very own armed guard to show them the way out, and then returning.

In the silence that resounded as the large, full room waited for Aspen, August, and Carter's return, America took a shuddering breath. She hadn't meant to, but the baby had moved and she couldn't stop herself from imagining being taken away from Maxon, sliced open, and then losing the baby, too.

Maxon took her hand and looked over at her. The expression in his eyes was a clear message. _Never_. Never in the history of ever. That would _never _have happened. She smiled gratefully and squeezed. Now that she'd lifted her eyes from her stomach, she saw a similar expression on the other faces in the room. Gavril looked practically mutinous. He likely would have taken up an actual sword, no matter that he had no sword training, rather than let such a thing happen to her. Though Silvia was the most disgruntled America had ever seen her, Dr. Ashlar was actually the most reassuring, after Maxon. His smile was sanguine, his expression unbothered, the shake of his head an unequivocal 'no'. He wouldn't have done it, no matter what his orders might have been.

The guards and August returned to their seats, the room took a collective breath.

"I have a proposition of my own." Maxon said, simply, as though there had been no interruption. "But I'll need all of your help… excluding Dr. Ashlar, who likely _still _hasn't slept since helping to save my wife's life. I'm sorry for that absurd disruption, Dr. Ashlar."

"I've already forgotten the entire silly thing." Dr. Ashlar agreed.

Maxon nodded, gratefully. "But I do ask that you stay, I'd like you to take one more look at America after this. I know you saw her last night, but please, a lot has happened. Just set my mind at ease."

"Of course, sir."

Maxon continued with his plan, returning his attention to the rest of the room. "I want to draw K out of hiding, and our captured rebel has given me an idea about how, exactly, to do that. K wants to kill the Queen and myself at a party. So I propose that we throw a party. When we throw a party this close to the birth of my heir, with myself _and _the Queen in attendance, K will not be able to resist. He'll most certainly be there. He'll want to kill us himself, so we'll give him what looks like the perfect opportunity. And the moment he reveals himself, we'll take him out. _Game over_."


	51. Chapter 51

America's family was mostly in-the-loop about the party. They didn't know specific strategy details, but they knew what the purpose of the party was, and they proved themselves more than useful. May, Kenna, and Magda helped Silvia with all of the planning, which was an enormous burden off of America. There would be all the trappings of a party: decorations, music, food; but America did not have to contend with planning any of it.

It turned out to be a very good thing that America had gone through the paperwork to have Silvia granted full security clearance because, for the first time in her career, Silvia was coordinating with Stavros for a Palace event. The guests would be a mix of guards in dress uniform, soldiers in plainclothes, and the entire English contingent of spies, hidden throughout, but ready for combat. To make it seem like a _real_ party, A few _real_ guests had to be invited, but Maxon was incredibly selective and made certain each guest knew, at the very least, that they were part of a trap. Several governors from nearby provinces, including Angeles, were confirmed guests, as well as Elise and Rolph, and Celeste's parents, Mr. and Mrs. Newsome.

America objected to the last pair. They'd suffered more than enough at the hands of the rebels, and if something went wrong with the trap, they could suffer even more. But when she personally telephoned Mrs. Newsome and begged her not to come, Mrs. Newsome flatly refused her. They had a gift for the baby, and they wanted to wish America well in-person, before the birth. And they were staunch supporters of both Maxon and America, so if they could help the King and Queen by attending this party, then nothing would stop them.

Gavril was back to subtlety, teasing this party in a similar method to the way he'd hinted at America's pregnancy during her first trimester. He announced that there would be footage on the _Report_ next week, and he leaked to several magazine columnists that Her Majesty was hosting this party as a last hurrah before the baby was born. It would be her final public appearance before the baby was born, excluding her brief presence at the opening ceremony of the formal legislative session.

Suddenly, it was all anyone was talking about. What would the Queen be wearing? It would be the final say on fashion until she reappeared after the baby (she had to wear a traditional cloak at the opening ceremony, no one would be able to see what she wore underneath). This was also the last chance to get a good look at the royal baby bump, possibly for another generation. There was no telling when or if the King and Queen would be blessing the nation with another baby, and hence another chance to fawn over America's stomach. Overnight, this party became the must-attend event of the season.

Silvia, with the help of Kenna, May, and Magda, as well as her usual assistant, Marlee (who was only working part-time, as she helped Carter recover), was inundated with invitation requests. Almost all of them were refused, which only added to the air of exclusivity. The buzz surrounding the party took on a life of its own.

Gavril also released a statement on the Palace attack, formal and dry, stating the number of injured guards and dead rebels. This was standard practice after an especially bad attack, but what wasn't standard was the slightly inflated rebel mortality count. They'd counted the captured rebel, Fisher Tracks, among the dead. There were no names released, of course, but the hope was that the rebels would count their missing and compare it to the number of dead in the statement, and assume Tracks was dead. This way, they would not suspect that the Palace had an informant, and they would not expect a trap.

Though this was the least she'd ever had to work on a Palace event since becoming Queen, America was agonizing over it day and night. This was the best chance they'd have to defeat K, to save the lives of whoever K might end up killing in the future. Innocent bystanders like Kota, not-so-innocent bystanders like Esther, or even Maxon or the baby. There was so much that could go wrong, and so much was at stake.

To make matter worse, Dr. Ashlar had America placed on partial bedrest for the entire week following the attack and leading up to the party. It was purely a precautionary measure, more to make sure her body was resting properly than anything else, but America had never been very good at being the kind of queen who laid in bed all day and let others do everything for her.

She couldn't deny that it was helping, as stir-crazy as it made her brain. She was going out of her mind, but her body was recovering strength and health by the day, so it was all worth it.

Being trapped in bed except for meals, bathroom breaks, and walks through the garden for exercise during the week leading up to the party was a little like torture for America, but she endured it for the sake of the baby. Astra made things easier, taking all nap times with her Aunt and providing much in the way of entertainment and blood pressure-lowering cuteness. Sometimes Kile would join them, along with Kenna or Marlee, but mostly it was just America and Astra, having some quality Aunt-Niece bonding time. Before every nap, they'd have story time (from a book, or sometimes stories about real princesses America knew. Nicoletta was Astra's favorite), and after every nap they'd have snack time in bed, with Mary or Paige bringing a tray of something enticing for them to share.

They even played castaways a couple of times, pretending that the floor was an ocean and the bed was their boat. Astra always took especially good care of the baby anytime they were castaways, making sure the baby had plenty of imaginary food and imaginary apple juice, as well as imaginary shade so the baby would stay nice and cool. Maxon joined them at the end of a castaway game once, trying to make as if he was rescuing them, but Astra quickly put a stop to that nonsense.

"No, Mackin, we are saving you from the sharks."

"I thought I was here to guide you beautiful princesses safely to shore?"

"No."

"But I have this map." he said, gesturing to an imaginary map. "I can get us safely home."

"No, I drive the ship." Astra shook her head. "I know the way. We are saving you from very hungry sharks."

"Hm. Okay, I suppose." Maxon relented. "If you're sure you don't need a handsome prince like me to rescue you?"

"No." And that was that.

Astra was doing well during daylight hours. Her parents were keeping her busy, and well-situated in an active routine. She was shadowing Kenna during party planning sessions, she was playing with Kile both inside and in the tree castle, and she had those regular, repetitive naptimes with America. These created a kind of schedule, something dependable, there were no surprises in Astra's week, and that was good. She knew what to expect and when to expect it, and that really seemed to help with her leftover anxiety from the rebel attack.

Nighttime, however, was a different story.

At first, Kenna and James tried to go back to a normal bedtime routine. They tucked Astra in at the usual time, read to her, kissed her, told her they loved her, and then turned out the light. They hadn't really thought that would work, but it had been worth a shot.

The crying, the nightmares, and the constant searching for any excuse to leave her room landed Astra in Kenna and James' bed. She had to try to sleep for hours on her own, until Kenna and James were ready for sleep, themselves, though it seemed to be worth it for her, to get to stay with her parents overnight.

Except then she worried over Maxon and America.

She tossed and turned until she couldn't take it anymore. With both of her parents fast asleep, she wiggled out of bed and worked diligently to twist the doorknob on the door leading to the hallway. When she finally had it pried open, she dashed out, her little pink nightdress skirting around her ankles. Officer Avery was on-duty in the hall, and Astra reached up to take his hand without saying a word. He accepted her hand and she tugged him down the hall to Maxon's room.

"What are we doing?" Avery asked.

"We're going in." Astra explained.

"They're sleeping, my lady."

"We have to see them." Astra insisted.

"Oh, we're checking on them?"

"Yeah."

"Okay." Avery silently opened the door, followed Astra through the family room, and then creaked the door to Maxon's bedroom open. Astra hurried over, launching herself up onto Maxon's mattress, using the blankets to help her the rest of the way like a mountain climber.

Maxon stirred and opened an arm to her, though his eyes remained closed. "Sleeping in here?" he mumbled.

"Yeah." Astra agreed, curling up next to him, relieved.

Relieved, until she began to worry about her parents. She stayed with Maxon and America for a good hour, dozing off occasionally, but eventually her anxiety became too much, again.

She slipped out of bed, hurried out into the hall, took Avery by the hand, and dragged him to her parent's room.

Where she stayed until, again, she couldn't take it anymore. When she was just too worried about Maxon and America, she slid out of bed again.

She went back and forth all night, though dawn found her in Maxon's bed. Avery knocked the moment he was off-duty. Maxon was finishing getting dressed and invited him inside. Avery explained how Astra had spent her night, in case Maxon couldn't remember all of the coming and going. Maxon was devastated.

That was the day Kenna and James temporarily moved into America's room. Astra still went back and forth, but the doors between the rooms were wide open, and Maxon left a little stepping stool by each bed so that Astra could get up more easily. She still swapped beds a few times a night, but the dark circles under her eyes were much less pronounced, and her naps during the day were softer and gentler, less like she was making up for hours and hours of sleep lost to anxiety. It was a step in the right direction.

Other than the occasional appearance during the day to share a quick lunch or check on America with his own eyes, or that one time he'd swung by for that quick game of castaways, America only saw Maxon at night for that week. He'd come in to his bedroom absolutely exhausted, tear off his suit in a zombie-like state and collapse into bed, nearly asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. He would try to ask about her day, try to have one whole conversation with her, but the strain was simply too much. It only got worse as the day of the party approached.

Sometimes America suspected that the baby actually missed his voice. There was no way to be sure, and it was probably just her own mixture of hormonal, lonely, and worried, but it certainly seemed like the baby only chose to squirm around during Maxon's brief appearances, these days. She still got the occasional swift kick or punch to a vital organ, but now that she was less than a month away from her due date, the baby was just plain out of room.

Occasionally, America would lay there, as part of her partial bedrest, and stare up at the ceiling, and try to imagine this time next month. She'd try to imagine having her baby in her arms, spending hours at a time in Amberly's rocking chair, or bundling the baby up and taking it out for a December stroll through the gardens. It was a difficult thing to fathom. It still felt like such a long way off, mostly because anything that would happen after this treacherous chess game of a party was over felt like another lifetime away.

America _was _allowed to attend one of Maxon's meetings that week. It was immediately clear that the pressure was starting to get to her husband.

"Sir, our scouts in the woods have located K amongst the rebel camp. If we act now and annihilate the camp-"

"No!" Maxon had yelled at his adviser's perfectly rational suggestion. "It would be too easy for K to disappear out there. We can't afford to risk losing track of him in the woods. He can't escape again. We cannot fail in our attempt to destroy him, we're running out of time."

Maxon's eyes had skirted over America's stomach, and she'd sank a little in her chair. So it seemed that both the King of Spades and the King of Hearts were working off of this unborn baby's timeline, both planning their offensives based on how much longer America's uterus could support this child. It seemed ridiculous, to her.

"Yes, your Majesty." The adviser had acknowledged. "We'll keep with the plan as outlined."

'The plan as outlined' involved surrounding K beyond hope of escape, trapped in the tunnels leading into the Palace. Meanwhile, there would be soldiers in the woods, following K's reinforcements and ready to remove them from the equation at the first available opportunity. Any rebels left behind at the camp would also be rounded up and immediately punished for their crimes. The punishment for their crimes being death. America was still working to get Maxon to reconsider this one.

"What about that captured rebel, he's been so helpful during the preparations for trapping K!" America had argued, vehemently. They'd been alone, in his bedroom after the meeting, and he hadn't been in the mood for the discussion.

"He _deserves_ death, and I still think he should be put to death—"

"He might _deserve_ death, but isn't it in our best interests to put a stop to the violence?"

"This _again_?" Maxon asked, amazed, thinking of the appeal she'd made, down in the dungeons, that had won the rebel his life in the first place.

America couldn't help but feel that she was at a disadvantage, stuck as she was on the bed for the sake of her health while Maxon got to tower over her, arms folded firmly. "Think of what it will mean to the south, the message it will send—"

"That we tolerate assassination attempts?"

"It's just an olive branch, and it's not letting them walk free. But we can put them to work, use them to rebuild the southern provinces—"

"We have law-abiding citizens who need those jobs, Ames. I don't want to discuss this anymore. The penalty for treason and attempted assassination of the King of Illéa is death. And that does not even take into consideration the crimes against the royal family. Astra still can't sleep through the night—"

"Do _not_ bring Astra into a discussion about executions, Maxon." America warned. "She has no place in this decision."

"You're right." Maxon relented. "But I'm not going to change my mind on this, Ames."

"What about the amendment?" she hadn't wanted to bring it up. It didn't really have a place in this discussion, either, but she was running out of options. "We're stagnant at 71% joint approval. What will happen to our numbers in the south when you do this. If you show mercy, goodwill towards the families that would be ripped apart—"

"Oh, America." he sighed heavily, every trace of confrontation now gone from his posture and tone. "The people who are camped out in those woods right now don't have families left. These are the desperate ones. The ones with families gave up the fight after I took the throne and it became clear that I was working to make things better in the South. These are the ones with nothing to lose and no one to go home to." He was sympathetic now, almost pitying. He was realizing that she hadn't been thinking about these rebels in the right way. He sank onto the bed next to her and studied her face, closely.

America blinked, her throat growing tight at his words. "There has to be something left to save, Maxon… everything can't be destroyed. We have to think about the future."

Maxon rubbed his eyes exhaustedly, but when he looked up at her a moment later, it was lovingly. "You truly still are the girl who gave her jewelry away at the Convicting, aren't you?"

America bit her lip, thinking back to that day. "Yeah, and you married me."

Maxon let out a long exhale as he nodded, thinking it over. "I'll _discuss _a less vengeful outcome for the rebels with Stavros, that's all I can promise."

"_Thank you_, Maxon!"

"Only the grunts. The leaders, the rebels in positions of authority will not be shown leniency."

"I understand."

Maxon nodded, taking in the pleased expression on her face with an air of pride. Like he'd just completed a job well done. "Now." he stretched out next to her and put his feet up on the bed. "Give me my baby."

"Not yet." America grinned.

"I want it now. Place it in my arms, please, at once."

"Just a few more weeks." America promised.

Maxon grinned, his petulant demeanor faltering as he pressed his lips to her stomach and ghosted his fingers along the enormous curve. "Yeah. Alright, then." he agreed, happily.

* * *

The whole Palace seemed to be thrumming with nervous energy the night before the party. Only a very few Palace occupants knew the real reason for the excitement, and their energy was decidedly darker, but everyone knew that the following day was important. A defining moment. Perhaps even a turning point in Maxon's time as King, as he and America celebrated their final days before becoming parents and welcoming in the next generation, the bright and brilliant future of Illéa.

America was so riddled with nerves, she found herself trembling, even as Dr. Ashlar checked her over and released her from partial bedrest, praising her recovered health and the unwavering health of the baby. In a normal world, that would be all that mattered. She'd be able to rest easy that night. But she never got to do anything the easy way, and neither she nor her baby would be anywhere near safe until K was dead. Not just apprehended and properly tried, because he could escape. She wouldn't truly be free until K was in the ground.

The baby was keeping her up that night. Maxon had fallen asleep as soon as his body landed on the bed beside her, but between her worries and the small, subdued gymnastics routine the baby was performing in order to exercise its muscles and get ready to be born, America simply lay there, staring at the wall, curled away from Maxon so as to avoid disturbing him. Not that it seemed like much would disturb him, he was sleeping like a rock.

America was actually relieved when Astra made her appearance, first the sounds of tiny, running footsteps, then her loud breaths as she gulped in air, working to keep her balance on the little stool at the foot of the bed, then the dip of the mattress as she climbed on by their feet and the back and forth as she crawled, an arm then the other, a knee then the other, up the bed to join them.

America popped her head up, "Hey, Astra." she whispered.

Astra paused in her well-worn path to Maxon's chest, where she usually fit perfectly as a little, _little_ spoon when Maxon slept on his side, as he was now.

"Aunt Ames, you awake?" Astra whispered loudly, surprised.

America laughed quietly at the question. It was as if Astra thought America might be sleep-talking. "Yeah. How about you?"

"Yeah. I'm awake." She confirmed, changing course and crawling towards America.

"Any bad dreams?" America asked.

"No. You have any bad dreams?"

"Nope." America said, rolling over with some effort and then stretching out an arm for Astra to settle into. "Are you excited for tomorrow?"

"Oh, yeah!" Astra exclaimed, but she tried to keep her voice to a whisper.

"You and Kile are going to have so much fun at his grandma and grandpa's house."

Astra wasn't going to be within a twenty mile radius of the Palace when Maxon's sting operation went down. On that point, everyone had agreed.

"Kile says they have ice cream there."

"I'll bet they do. Will you eat an extra scoop for me? Tell me how good it was later?"

"Yeah, I will do that." Astra grinned happily.

"Thank you." America pressed a kiss to Astra's forehead, right along the line where her red hair began spouting out in loose curls. She soothingly combed her fingers through that hair as they both settled in.

"I like that." Astra reported, about her head massage.

"Okay. I'll keep going for a little while." America promised.

Astra blinked heavily for a few seconds, breathing in and out, taking in the silence. "Does that baby have red hair like us?" Astra asked, after a moment.

"I don't know." America said. "The baby is a surprise. We won't know if it's a boy or a girl, or what color hair it has, or even what its name will be, not until after it's born."

"We could name her Astra." Astra suggested. "If that baby is a girl like me."

"That's a _beautiful_ name." America agreed. "But wouldn't it get confusing, once the baby is bigger? You'd never know if Maxon or I were calling you or your little cousin."

"We can call her Astra 2." Astra said.

Next to them, Maxon shuddered. Though his back was turned, America suspected he was awake now, and fighting off laughter. Astra didn't seem to notice.

"If the baby is a girl, we probably won't call her Astra 2. Astra is a beautiful, special name, for a beautiful, special girl like you."

Astra grinned, but her hand came to rest on America's bump, "That baby is beautiful, special, too. I can share. That baby should be Astra 2."

"Even if it's a boy?"

"Yes."

America bit back her giggles. "We'll think about it."

"Okay." Astra yawned, her whole face contorting widely in the dark. "Let's tell stories."

"Will you go first? The baby didn't get a bedtime story, yet."

"Yes. That baby needs a bedtime story." Astra's little hand petted America's belly, before coming to rest on it again. "Dear baby. Once upon a time, there was a beautiful prince named Astra 2. He lived at a tower that was very tall, and he had long hair, so long and red, it fell all the way to the ground."

America grinned, "Did your mommy tell you this story before?"

"Mackin did."

"Oh, I see."

"But he said Astra, not Astra 2."

"Astra, you're so thoughtful to change the name to include the baby." America complimented her, genuinely impressed.

"It's what you're s'posed to do, sometimes. Sometimes no, but sometimes yes."

"I see. Okay, keep going."

"Okay, so Prince Astra 2—"

"I have another question."

"Okay."

"Was Astra a _princess _in Maxon's story?"

"Oh, um, yes, but that baby will not like to be called a girl if he is a boy."

"Hm. Okay."

"Shhh." Astra reminded her.

"I'm sorry."

"It's okay." Astra reassured her. "So, Prince Astra 2 had hair all the way to the ground, and lived all the way in a very tall tower, and he was all alone. Then one day a princess came, um, her name was… Mommy."

"Her name was Mommy?"

"Lots of people are named Mommy!" Astra reminded America. This time, Maxon snorted, but he tried to pass it off as a snore.

"I'm sorry, please keep going."

Astra yawned again. "So, the princess Mommy had a horse that was a rainbow of colors, and diamonds. She rided—"

"Rode—"

"Rode the horse to the very tall tower, but she could not fit through the door because the door was too small. But then Prince Astra 2 saw her, and gave her some hair to climb all the way to the top, and they played games and ate ice cream… and um… they had a sleepover, and um… went swimming…" she couldn't remember the end of the story.

"Did the princess help the prince escape from the tower?" America suggested.

"Oh, yes, and they went camping, too, and they moved to princess Mommy's castle, because the doors were bigger and she had more toys, too. The end."

"That was wonderful, thank you, Astra."

"You're welcome."

"Now I'll tell you one, but you have to try to fall asleep, okay?"

"Yes, I'm tired." Astra agreed, snuggling in.

America told the story of the three little pigs, but since Astra was obsessing over princesses, she changed it to the three little princesses. It was only halfway through the story that America realized how much like K the 'big bad wolf' was. How he showed up and knocked everything down, and they ran and ran, hoping one day they'd have a house strong enough to withstand him.

America fell asleep in the middle of these musings, and woke up to the sound of a camera clicking loudly above her. There was pale morning light drifting in through the windows, and apparently, Maxon hadn't been able to resist himself. He had his small red camera up, grinning at what he saw in the display. America narrowed her groggy eyes at him.

"I wasn't sure if I had time to fetch my DSLR." he whispered softly. "The two of you are perfect right now." Then he grinned, "Three of you, I mean."

America peeked down at the warm, soft little body still sound asleep next to her. "She slept through the night?"

"I doubt she so much as twitched." Maxon nodded.

America inhaled deeply, the smell of Astra's baby shampoo invading her nose in the most pleasant way. She knew what that shampoo looked like now. They had some in the nursery, a gift from Kenna, ready and waiting for their baby's first bath.

As Maxon took a moment to transfer the picture to the small machine he used to store his favorite images for future printing, it occurred to America that it was the morning of the party. Her heart began hammering in her chest, but she was careful to match her breaths with Astra's deep, steady ones, and to breathe through the jolt of adrenaline that had just shocked through her system.

Maxon tucked the little red camera into the breast pocket of his suit, and transferred the old note from K and the newest ultrasound of the baby into his clean pants pockets. He lingered over that note from K. This might be the last day he would ever carry it. This time tomorrow, if everything went the way it was supposed to, he wouldn't need it anymore. K would be dealt with. They did not plan so much as to hold him overnight. He would be immediately charged, the evidence would be laid out against him, he would be immediately convicted and sentenced, and his execution would take place that night. If everything went right, this would be K's last morning. America knew it would be better for herself if she could work up some kind of compassion, if not for the monster K had become, then for the man who had lost everything and been driven to become the monster.

But she remembered burying her brother, and the way Gerad had cried at Kota's funeral. She remembered the sound of Astra's tiny, frightened sobs in the bunker, the way everyone, including Astra, had been willing to lay down their lives to protect America and the baby. She remembered Carter's injured leg and all of the rehabilitation he would have to go through before returning to normal, and the look on Marlee's face when she realized how close she had come to losing her husband. She remembered the months and months of Maxon's troubled sleep, the way his brow furrowed even while he dreamed. All because of K. And she felt no compassion. But she felt no relief, either. She was trapped in a vice of fear and hate, and she just had to have faith that tomorrow morning would dawn, brighter and kinder, and maybe then she'd have her peace.

Astra still sleeping undisturbed at America's side was a good sign. A hopeful omen. A wonderful place to start.

* * *

America and Maxon spent their morning in security briefings, the final details of Maxon's plan falling into place. They took a break for lunch, and then to see Astra, Kile, and Marlee safely to the car with the armed guard escorting them to Carter's parents' house. That guard was dressed as a chauffeur, and would be driving them over, but he would be staying all day, until Marlee got the call that it was safe to return.

America, Maxon, Kenna, and James stood and watched until the car carrying the most precious cargo in all of Illéa disappeared from sight.

"They're safe." James said, but he didn't sound as if he could believe it.

"We'd know already if the rebels planned an ambush on guests coming or going from the Palace." Maxon reassured them. We have eyes on the camp, and well-placed spies."

"Good." Kenna lied. Nothing would be good until Astra was back in her arms, and America knew it. She felt the same way.

"Besides," Maxon continued, "If they are attacked, we'll know immediately. The guard will radio back, or the car itself will transmit a distress call and its location. Aspen has a team on standby, ready to react."

Everyone looked stared at the place where the car had disappeared around the corner. "But they won't need it. They're safe." Maxon said. "Safer than being at the Palace."

It didn't feel true, but it was true. The Palace was about to become a hotbed of rebels and guards. Astra, Kile, and Marlee were out of the crosshairs, that's what mattered most.

America felt a low, persistent twinge aching in her lower belly and rubbed at it, frowning down at her stomach. The sudden movement caused the others to look over at her.

"Ames?" Maxon asked, worriedly. This was not the day for something to go wrong.

"No, I'm fine." America promised. "I've just been having contractions all morning."

"What?!" Maxon's hands grasped onto America's upper arms in a panic.

"Oh, God, no!" America realized how that had sounded, and her face became a hurried apology. "Not that kind of contraction! It's the pre-labor contractions, the ghost contractions. They help my body prepare and loosen up for labor, remember?"

Maxon, still frozen with eyes wide, twitched his eyebrows. "You're not _in_ labor?"

"No. Not even close. Not for three more weeks, at least." she reminded him. "Probably more like four or five."

"The baby isn't coming early?"

"Not today."

Kenna placed a tentative hand on Maxon's shoulder, and the tension there melted away. "This is normal, Maxon. She's fine. The baby's fine. This is supposed to happen, it's a good sign."

"Good?" Maxon blinked.

"Very good. But if those tiny twinges become stronger, or in any way frequent, then she'll go see Dr. Ashlar and he'll look her over." Kenna reassured him.

"I was joking when I said I wanted the baby now." Maxon said, eyes wide, like his words might have somehow triggered her contractions. Like the baby had really heard, understood, and taken his words to be a command to be born right away. "I don't want the baby to come until after the party. Until after the amendment!"

"I understand. I'm sorry I said anything, I didn't mean to worry you." America reassured him.

Maxon shook his head, "No. You should tell me everything. Does it hurt?"

"Not really. It's just uncomfortable, a little achy. Not as bad as my feet or my back get at the end of a long day."

"Breathing helps, Ames." Kenna reminded her. "You can practice your breathing techniques to breathe your way through these pre-contractions, too."

Breathing techniques. Somehow, in the chaos, learning breathing techniques for labor had fallen off of America's to-do list. "Right." she said, uneasily realizing that she knew next to nothing about labor, or how to cope with the extreme pain and fatigue that she'd been told came along with it. She had a nursery all prepared for the baby once it was born, but she had done almost nothing to prepare for the actual birth. A small place in the back of her mind felt panic at that, but the rest of her mind was consumed with this party, consumed with K and the rebels and keeping the right people alive while the others were killed. It was almost laughable to be worrying about something three weeks away, when there was no telling if the Palace would even be left standing after tonight.

Maxon recovered from his shock and released her upper arms, wrapping her in a warm embrace. He knew what she was thinking. He knew that she was woefully underprepared. "We'll get through tonight, and then we'll devote ourselves to this baby. We'll ask Dr. Ashlar for recommendations, and we'll do everything he says. Every single thing. Everything is going to be fine."

America distinctly remembered teaching him those words, in the now-destroyed safe room, under the threat of a different kind of rebel attack. Even though he was parroting her own reassuring platitude back to her, part of her still believed him.

And part of her was braced for the very stars to fall from the sky and shatter the earth as they fell.

* * *

America and Maxon dressed for the party in Maxon's room. They'd insisted Kenna and James go back to their own room, just for the day of the party, to leave America's room unoccupied. If K somehow struck early, and somehow made it through all of the guards and precautions designed to stop him, he'd make breaking into America's room his top priority. That room would be abandoned, except for the guard stationed inside. It didn't matter that the scouts still had eyes on K back in the forrest, and he couldn't be in two places at once, Maxon was taking no chances.

For the very first time, Mary and Justin were both in Maxon's room, helping America and Maxon get ready. Justin kept his back respectfully turned anytime Mary was dressing or undressing America, but he was helpful to have around, somehow anticipating Maxon's, America's, _and _Mary's needs before they vocalized them.

America liked having something to discuss other than the party, which would be bringing K back into the Palace, or the baby, who would be dangerously close to a desperate, wild madman tonight. And whose parents still didn't have the approval ratings required to make sure it would inherit the throne, boy or girl. And whose mother did not know how to breathe through labor to make being born any easier for it yet. So America was glad to have Justin and Mary together, and talking about their wedding plans.

They hadn't decided on much, but they knew they wanted blue flowers for their spring wedding, and Mary had a friend in the kitchens, a very talented baker, and he would be baking their wedding cake as a gift to them.

"It sounds beautiful." America sighed.

"We were thinking Ms. Astra might like to be our flower girl."

"Oh." Maxon chuckled at the thought. "She would _love _that."

Mary grinned, as she curled another small section of America's hair around the hot iron, "We thought so, too, your Majesty. We weren't going to bother with a large wedding party, just Justin's brother for his groomsman, and Paige and Lucy for my bridesmaids. But then we realized how happy little Astra would be, tossing around flower petals and wearing a special dress. That's the kind of joy we want our wedding day to bring, so… we think we'll ask her parents in a few weeks, once we have more details settled.

Justin wasn't very talkative, he was letting Mary do the speaking, but he had a warm smile on his face, and he watched Mary work with a familiar, loving light in his eyes. A light America recognized, because she saw it any time she caught Maxon staring at her from across the room.

"Good things are coming." America said, softly, looking between Mary and Justin. If America didn't keep reminding herself of that, she knew she'd collapse into the pit of fear and despair that threatened to claim her at the thought of K.

Something about this whole party, this whole trap, still wasn't sitting right with her. She tried to tell herself that it was just nerves and anxiety, that she was just worried, but she was starting to wonder if it wasn't something else. She was starting to wonder if her newly heightened intuition was trying to warn her not to let the rebels anywhere near her family, not to let K come back into the Palace.

* * *

'Guests' started arriving at sundown. Most of them were armed soldiers in crisp suits, English spies in fancy attire, or guards in their dress uniform, as if they were off-duty. America could tell that Aspen was nervous, not having Carter there. In Carter's absence, he seemed to be leaning on Avery quite a bit, and America thought that was a good choice. After all, Avery was still waiting on his medal for nearly tossing America down the stairs to the safe room and saving her life during that rebel attack early in the previous spring. America never had gotten around to telling Maxon that it had been Avery who'd pushed her in. Once the panic of the moment passed, Maxon had never asked again.

Other than the fact that the party was obviously lacking in female guests, the whole thing looked impeccably real. Kenna, May, and Silvia had done an amazing job coordinating this whole thing on such short notice. They were all hiding in a safe room now, along with the rest of America's family. Maxon didn't think K would pass up a chance to kill Maxon and America just because he wouldn't also get the Queen's family in the deal. Surely the allure of destroying the baby before it was ever born would be enough.

There was food, though very few servers (most of the staff had been preemptively sent to their safe rooms), there was music, though it wasn't live (As a security measure, no one had been contracted for this party. Every single worker came from inside the Palace. The Queen and her mother were the only true musicians inside the Palace, so pre-recorded music had been obtained). Still, the songs were clear, the tone warm and realistic. America might never have noticed that the music wasn't being performed live, if it wasn't that she was a former Five, and always aware of the performers at her parties.

There were cameras moving throughout the crowded Great Room, both for video and for photographs. Gavril was there, interviewing the few attendees who were not officers in disguise, though he looked strained. Pale. America could have been mistaken, but between takes, it actually looked like he was breaking a sweat. No one was cooler under pressure than Gavril Fadaye. Somehow, his visible strain was making America even more nervous.

The other main and plainly visible difference between this party and any other was that Maxon would not be leaving America's side all evening. They would not split up to greet guests, they would not mingle in separate groups, he would not dance with anyone else, and she would not sit and rest her feet while he continued to work the party. They were attached at the hip for the whole evening.

Gavril worked his way through the crowd, until he finally got to Maxon and America.

"Your Majesties." he bowed.

"How are the interviews going, Gavril?" Maxon asked.

"Well, sir."

"You'll have enough for the _Report _segment?"

Gavril dropped his voice when he replied, "More than enough to make it believable, sir."

"Good." Maxon said.

Gavril turned his attention to America, "How are you doing, your Majesty?" he was genuinely concerned.

"I'm worried. I'll feel so much better once this is all over with."

"Yes, ma'am." Gavril agreed.

"But the baby is _fine_, Gavril. Don't worry about us." She placed a hand on his arm, emphatically, and he smiled back at her. Now that she was this close to him, he did have the look of a nervous grandfather about him. She knew he'd covered Clarkson's Selection, and that he'd known Maxon since Amberly had announced her pregnancy. It suddenly occurred to her that his nervous demeanor, the way he seemed unusually tense during this party, had more to do with Maxon, America, and the baby than it did with rebels and subterfuge and the threat of an attack.

"Shall we get this over with?" Gavril suggested.

"Yes, please." Maxon nodded. Then he held up a hand and turned his attention away. Aspen was hurrying over, through the crowd. Maxon leant in Aspen's direction and Aspen whispered something urgently in Maxon's ear. They met each other's eyes importantly, and then Aspen hurried off.

"The rebels are on the move." Maxon said, softly enough that Gavril's camera and audio crew, keeping a respectful distance until Gavril waved them over, would not overhear.

America sighed, heavily. "I suppose K is going to wait until the end of the party to make his move. Some kind of grand finale nonsense?"

"Seems like it." Maxon nodded.

America tried to sound untroubled when she said, "I was hoping we'd get this over with early so that I could go to bed soon."

Maxon chuckled at her brave attempt at a joke. "Are you tired, my love?"

America thought of everything they'd been through, in their dealings with K. "Yes. In so many ways. Maxon, I need a vacation."

"I know you do." Maxon took her palm and pressed a kiss to it. "We'll have a break after New Years. Perhaps a family vacation?" Maxon suggested, eyeing America's stomach briefly.

"That sounds wonderful."

"In the mean time." Maxon's expression was grim and resigned as he turned back to Gavril, "We should record our interview now. Before I need to leave and attend to… other matters."

"Yes, sir." Gavril agreed.

Doing interviews with Maxon at her side was never hard. He was always charming and funny, and never let her flounder. America hardly remembered what Gavril asked, or what she and Maxon replied with, with the rebels dominating so much of her mind, but Gavril offered them a smile and a nod, before moving on. She thought they'd talked a little about her dress, the aubergine hues a perfect choice for a late November party, but she couldn't remember anything else they'd said about it. She was in autopilot for that interview. The rebels were coming.

Maxon steered the both of them to the head table, and several guards in dress uniform moved to stand surreptitiously around them.

"Water, my love. You should sip some water."

"Unless you want to escort me to the bathroom seven times before the night is over, I think I should stay away from the water." America warned.

"Tell me how you're feeling." Maxon said, studying her carefully. "Be honest."

"My heart is pounding so fast, Maxon." America said, honestly. "And adrenaline has me shaking."

Maxon considered this, frowning, placing a hand over hers to determine how bad the trembling was. "Protein." he determined. "You need protein and water."

"What? You want me to eat right now?" America asked, almost angry. "The rebels are moving through the forrest on their way to the Palace, and you expect me to eat?"

Maxon moved his chair closer to hers, so that their knees were touching, and he held both her hands in his. "They'll be apprehended in the tunnels, Ames, they're never going to set eyes on this party. They don't know we know they're coming. They think we're going to be as surprised as ever. We've got them where we want them, Love. So I'm going to have a guard bring us each a few small quiches to eat, and some water to drink, and we're going to keep our strength up. Alright?"

America nodded, reluctantly, and twisted her hands nervously in her lap the moment Maxon released them to draw the attention of one of the guards around them. She sucked in a deep breath and released it, allowing herself a moment to focus inward, on the baby and the small, mini-contraction she was having. This one didn't even ache, it just felt like a tiny stiffening of her muscles. She allowed herself to imagine what she would be doing one year from now. Cuddling with her eleven-month-old, lamenting that soon she would have a one-year-old. Maybe she, Maxon, and the baby would all be settling in for an early bedtime or splashing around in the indoor pool. Maybe she'd be chasing the baby around, as it crawled all through the Palace, causing more mischief than should be possible for such a small human.

"Are you alright?" Maxon asked, and her eyes flickered open. Her moment of peace over.

"I'm fine. Just thinking about the baby."

"How about 'Thomas', for a boy?" Maxon suggested, as they waited for their food. "King Thomas Schreave?"

"Tommy?"

"Cute, isn't it?" Maxon asked.

"Very."

"'Rosalind', for a girl?" Maxon continued.

"Rosie?"

"Mhmm." Maxon nodded. "A little redheaded girl named Rosie… Princess Rosie, would be too adorable for words."

"Perhaps we should stay with Astra's suggestion and make things simpler for ourselves." America joked, and Maxon laughed, hence confirming that he had, indeed, been awake and eavesdropping the previous night.

"Prince or Princess Astra 2." Maxon snorted. "That would certainly be the easy way out."

America and Maxon sat at the head table for another twenty minutes, resting their feet and nibbling on their food, sipping their water and making plans for their baby, or Astra, or Astra and their baby. It was the least anxious America had felt all night.

Aspen returned to burst their bubble of relief, hurrying over and bending down to Maxon's ear. America felt a flurry of hope. Was Aspen here to tell them that the rebels had entered the tunnels and been captured? America thought back to the map where that boy rebel had circled the location of the camp. It was too far away, wasn't it? For them to be in the Palace already?

Maxon leapt to his feet, the chair squealing out from under him, his entire body tense, his face angry. He took two strides, as if he and Aspen were going to leave the party to have a discussion, but then he froze in his tracks and turned back. The look in his eyes was fear, as he surveyed her. He didn't say anything, she doubted he could have pried his jaw open enough to get the words out, as tense as he was, but he tilted his head toward the door. America pushed herself up to her feet, using the table to help support her weight and keep her balance.

Maxon offered her his arm, which she was more than happy to accept, and he followed Aspen out into the hall beyond the Great Room. This wasn't a real party, so the King _and _Queen were allowed to both disappear from the festivities at the same time. America shuddered, upon seeing this crack in the facade. The longer this went on, the more uneasy this fake party made her.

"Explain." Maxon ordered.

Aspen nodded, looking like a wound up coil ready to burst. "Our scouts in the woods lost visual on K, eight minutes ago."

Maxon cursed, gripping America's hand tightly. "I knew he'd be too easy to lose in the woods. All those damned trees and shadows—" he cursed again.

"He was headed this direction, sir," Aspen said, "We still believe he'll attempt to enter the Palace through the tunnels as predicted. As soon as he sets foot inside, he'll be apprehended."

"You have permission to kill him on sight, I'd rather lose our official trial than lose K."

"I understand."

"Let me know the moment you find him again."

"I will."

"Lockdown the entrances and exits to the Palace. No one is coming or going, except through those guarded tunnels."

"Yes, sir."

Maxon paused, thoughtfully. "Have the staff lock all the windows."

"Sir?"

"That scout we captured? Remember? He got in through Astra's window."

"Astra's window has been locked ever since."

"He might try a different window. Just do it, I want to be certain that he'll be going through the tunnels. And then have the staff return to their safe rooms."

"Yes, sir."

"Go." Maxon dismissed, and Aspen hurried away.

Maxon and America did not linger out in the hall to react to this news because all of their protection was in the Great Room. Instead, they immediately returned to the party and then shared their grave looks of concern. What did it really mean, that the scouts in the woods had lost sight of K? Surely it didn't mean much? K still wanted Maxon and America dead, which meant he still had to come and find them. And they were going to stay here, surrounded by guards, until he showed himself. This was just a minor hiccough, in the scheme of things.

But America's intuition was screaming one word, over and over. _Disaster_.

* * *

Maxon and America danced.

Still no K.

They spoke with each of the unarmed guests who'd shown up to help make this party look real, and thanked them one by one.

Still no K.

They took five trips to the bathroom, due to the strain on America's bladder, Maxon reluctantly agreeing to let America use the toilet alone and wait for her in the women's powder room outside, only after inspecting every inch of the lavatory and deeming it safe and with no rebels in sight.

Absolutely no rebels in sight. Still no K.

It was getting late, the party was only supposed to last for another half an hour. Unless K was having a leisurely stroll on his way to the Palace, there was no way it should be taking this long.

"Maybe he's running?" America suggested. "Headed out of Angeles? Like he knows it was a trap?"

Maxon shook his head. They were back at the head table, standing together with Maxon's arm at America's back, a wall of guards around them. "He doesn't know it's a trap, and even if he did, I just don't think he'd care. He's not planning a long and exciting life after killing us. He wants revenge for his family, and all of the families like his. After that, what does he care what happens to himself?"

America swallowed hard at that thought. A desperate mad man with nothing to lose, and they couldn't find him, and he was coming for them.

"We should make arrangements." Maxon said, grimly. "Send the real guests home, send Gavril and his crew to a safe room, have some comfortable clothes brought in for you, maybe even a sofa for you to nap on. We might be here a while."

America hated to think of this painful, difficult night lasting any longer than it already had, but she was prepared to do anything at this point. Anything to get rid of K before her occasional little pre-contractions turned into the real thing.

Maxon stood and pivoted away to address the nearest guard, Avery. When Aspen wasn't in the Great Room, he had his temporary second-in-command near America and Maxon at all times, it seemed. Avery nodded as he listened to Maxon's decision, consulting his own wristwatch. They agreed to wait another ten minutes, and then start preparations for a longer stay.

America's eyes scanned through the crowd, trying to determine who would be left once the real guests were gone. She saw Gavril and his crew, still hard at work. They'd be gone. She saw Elise and Rolph, Rolph scribbling animatedly into a notepad. They needed to be sent away first. She refused to let anything bad happen to them. And Mr. and Mrs. Newsome, they needed to be kept safe at all costs. Mrs. Newsome looked so much like Celeste, and Mr. Newsome sometimes got a look of amused mischief on his face that was so very like Celeste that she might as well have been alive and standing in front of them. It was so brave and strong of Mr. and Mrs. Newsome to come here to the Great Room, the same place where their daughter had been murdered, just to try and help Maxon and America. They needed to be protected.

Thinking of Celeste in the Great Room sent chills down America's spine. She looked over to the place in the room where Celeste had been shot straight through the head, the catalyst for the complete chaos that had followed. America was so lost in the memory, reliving the moment of her friend's murder, that it took her several long moments to remember that her eyes were still open.

She _wasn__'__t_ reliving the time surrounding Celeste's murder.

She was here, now, in the Great Room, at the party, and the face staring back at her was no memory. She wasn't seeing the _echo_ of the man who'd shot Maxon in the chest. She was seeing that man.

K was in the ballroom, dark eyes locked with America's blue, a satisfied smirk on his lips when the moment of horror and recognition dawned on her face. He was pleased that she remembered him. Pleased that he was a fixture in her nightmares, and now he was standing before her, all her nightmares made real.

Her breath caught in her lungs and she reached a hand out to Maxon's arm, grasping tightly.

"What is it?" Maxon turned back to her.

She couldn't believe K had let her move. Let her get so far as to touch Maxon's arm. K hadn't moved, he was just watching them. Soaking in the sight of them. Reveling.

Maxon followed her horrified gaze out through the crowd until his eyes landed on K. She felt him stiffen. Very carefully, without making any sudden moves that might trigger action from K, Maxon murmured, "Avery." And Avery turned, following Maxon's and America's frozen gaze.

Around the room, various guards, soldiers, and English agents were slowly falling silent, their eyes glancing over to check on the monarchs and then realizing what was wrong. The atmosphere crackled as guns were drawn and pointed at K.

Maxon noticed when K began ogling America's baby bump, and shifted ever so slightly in front of her to block it from view, keeping his gaze glued to K's, watching for any sign that this movement might break K's stillness.

K simply nodded. He'd been expecting that. He expected Maxon to shield America with his own body. That's exactly what had happened last time. K seemed to find this funny. K was very, very happy. That was not a good thing.

Maxon didn't say a word, the silence seemed to be the only thing keeping this scene from devolving into chaos. In the background, America noticed a shifting as guards and soldiers moved into a formation around the few civilian guests attending the party. This would not be like the last time K had pointed a gun at America. There would be no chaos, no haze of bullets flying everywhere.

K seemed to realize this with some surprise. That was satisfying. K hadn't been expecting a room full of guards. He didn't look troubled by this revelation, merely disappointed. Maybe he'd been expecting a more frightened audience? Or a larger pool of victims?

America felt herself sway, and realized that she needed to breathe. She pressed herself to Maxon's back, and he reached back with one hand to lace his fingers with hers. Now she had an anchor, Maxon was there to hold her steady. She sipped in some air and the burning in her chest subsided. The world grew clearer. She realized that K did not have a gun.

In fact, K slowly lifted his hands in the air. He was unarmed. He did not look away from Maxon and America the whole time, but the show was for the room full of weapons pointed at him.

Maybe he _wanted_ a trial? Maybe he wanted to be held accountable for all that he'd done? To take credit for it, or to have a chance to apologize? Maybe he'd seen the error of his ways, and was sorry?

For a moment, time stood perfectly still.

And then America felt herself fly backwards through the air, not understanding why, as the silence of the room was replaced with a dull ringing in her ears. She couldn't breathe, the breath had been knocked out of her lungs, and getting air down her throat was her greatest struggle, her only struggle, for several seconds.

The whole world was pitch black, until she realized her eyes were closed and pried them open again. Not that the images they started feeding her made any more sense than the darkness had.

She was lying on the floor, someone else lying on top of her uncomfortably, pressing too hard against her stomach. This couldn't be good for the baby, and where was K?

She struggled to sit up, but the body on top of hers held her down. Weaver, with an enormous bloody cut on his forehead. He was saying something urgently, but there was no sound coming out. Only ringing.

America continued her struggle for air, her lungs filling with nothing but smoke that hung heavy around her. She coughed, choked, and tried again.

It was hot, and not because Weaver was lying on top of her. It was hot like a fireplace, or like an oven.

Weaver was trying to talk to her again. This time she read the word 'fire' on his lips. He was moving, rolling off her body, but staying close to shield her. She'd thought that having her stomach free would help her breathe, but between the smoke and the gasping, it made no difference at all. She was suffocating.

Weaver gave up talking, and instead he started pulling. He pulled her to her unsteady feet, feet that wholly refused to support her weight, feet that were like wet noodles beneath her legs, and then he lifted her into his arms. It was not as comfortable as being lifted into Maxon's arms.

Maxon.

Where was Maxon?

Where was K?

Why was there a fire?

America tried to ask where Maxon was, but no sound came out. Still, Weaver must have heard her. He was saying something back, but she didn't know what. She couldn't leave without Maxon. Except, she realized with dawning horror, that she was already gone. Weaver was sprinting down the hallway with her in his arms, rocketing toward what seemed to be the hospital wing.

She could breathe again, though tenuously, and there were other sounds beginning to mix with the ringing in her ears. Namely, Weaver's quick footsteps.

"I can hear." America reported.

"Thank God." Weaver said, glancing down at her but not slowing his pace.

"Where's Maxon?"

"He had Avery and Markson on him. I lost sight of them in the smoke, but they'll get him to the hospital wing."

That was smart. Don't look for each other in the haze, get somewhere safe and then meet up. America was glad Weaver had pulled her away. "What happened?"

"Explosion."

America would have rolled her eyes, but she was still too shaken. Apparently she made a noise of impatience, though, one that she still couldn't hear, because Weaver continued, "K didn't move, didn't blink, didn't flinch. He just… blew up."

"Oh, God." America realized. "It was bad?"

Weaver nodded. "It was bad. I pulled you back half a second later… I'm sorry, I think you fell pretty hard—"

"That was you? That wasn't the explosion?"

"No, ma'am. That was me."

"K… blew up?"

Weaver nodded, grimly.

"You covered me."

There must have been gratitude in her tone, because Weaver shook his head. "Don't thank me until we know you're safe. Until we know that I didn't… that the baby… I did what I had to do to keep you alive, but—"

America gulped, "Nothing hurts. Well… my shoulder blade. That's where I landed, I think."

Weaver just kept running, adjusting his grip on her to try to avoid the offending shoulder blade.

There were lots of people running into the hospital wing when America got there. "I have the Queen!" Weaver called, and nurses, guards, and a few of the lightly injured leapt out of the way.

"I have the Queen!" Weaver said, again, and he ran into a room where Dr. Ashlar was already hard at work on a patient lying on a hospital bed.

"How is the Queen?" Dr. Ashlar asked, keeping his tone urgent but calm. He didn't glance at them.

"I think I'm okay." America said. "Let me try to stand."

Weaver gently set her on the floor and she swayed, but she found her bearings. "I can do it. I can stand."

"Bleeding?"

America did an assessment of herself. Weaver checked her back while she checked her front. "No."

"Cramping?"

"No."

"Sit, your Majesty." Dr. Ashlar said, still focused on his task. He was cleaning and stitching, cleaning and stitching, and when he moved aside, America got a clear view of the patient. A man lying on the table, bloody and covered in wounds, completely unconscious.

She didn't feel her mouth move, but her throat stung and she heard her own voice clearly through the now distant ringing in her ears.

"MAXON!"


	52. Chapter 52

"Your Majesty, you need to sit."

"Maxon!" Was he breathing? He didn't look like he was breathing.

"Your Majesty, I don't want to have to ask you to leave."

America hurried over to hospital bed where her husband lay unconscious, "Maxon, please—"

"Your Majesty," Dr. Ashlar finally paused and looked directly at her. "He needs my attention right now, and the best way you can help him is by taking care of yourself and your baby."

"But—"

"If you require immediate medical attention," Dr. Ashlar continued, "then I am constitutionally bound to leave his Majesty and tend to you and to the heir. Another doctor would have to come in and treat his Majesty, and that would take precious time. We don't want that to happen, do we?"

America blinked, realizing he'd asked her a question, and only belatedly realizing what that question had been. Her whole world was Maxon on that hospital bed, and Dr. Ashlar only existed peripherally, and only because he was currently touching Maxon, cleaning a red wound. "No." America decided.

"Sit, your Majesty." Dr. Ashlar reminded her.

"I—"

"You're a wonderful Queen, but unless you've been misleading me for years, you have no training as a doctor or a nurse, therefore the best thing you can do for Maxon right now is to allow me time to work."

"Yes…" Against every instinct humming in her veins, she forced her legs to step backward. She stumbled, her body in a mutiny against her mind, but Officer Weaver caught her and helped her back, to a chair by the door.

A nurse came hurrying in carrying gauze and a few instruments America did not recognize. She and Dr. Ashlar spoke hurriedly, America only understanding half of what they were saying. The rest sounded like medical jargon.

America pressed her hands over her eyes, trying to block everything out. Maxon, unconscious and bleeding. The Great Room a haze of dark smoke and fire. They'd executed the plan perfectly, but everything had gone so _wrong_.

"Your Majesty," Dr. Ashlar's voice called from across the room. "You need to breathe."

She heard, now, the sounds of someone close by having a panic attack. She pitied them, she'd had more than her fair share of panic attacks in her life, and they were not pleasant. In fact, she'd been mid-panic attack the first time she'd ever laid eyes on Maxon, as he ordered the guards to allow her out into the gardens. Maxon…

"Your Majesty… Damn it." Dr. Ashlar's voice swore. "Cat, get an oxygen tank in here, fast."

"Sedative?" the nurse's voice asked. The voice was moving, she was already following orders.

"She's the ruling monarch while his Majesty remains unconscious, we can't put her on a sedative." Dr. Ashlar replied, and then his tone became imploring again. "Your Majesty… America, you need to steady your breathing."

Steady her breathing?_ Was_ she breathing? She was having a dissociative moment, her mind and body were not occupying the same space. She felt as if she was listening from somewhere else in the room, and her body was left behind. And apparently, having an anxiety attack.

For another long moment, she tried to rejoin her senses. She tried to force her mind to accept that the panicked breathing she was hearing was actually coming from within her body, but it was like staring at an optical illusion and trying to see it for what it really was. Her brain put up quite the struggle.

And then, without warning, she was snapped back into her body as a flash of white hot pain ripped through her abdomen. She cried out, clutching at her stomach, and then looked up at Dr. Ashlar with wide, fearful eyes.

"Breathe." his dark eyes were locked on hers, his tone soothing.

"The baby—" she gasped.

"The baby is fine." he promised her. "You're _not_ going into labor." It was hard to tell from his tone whether he was reassuring her that she wasn't going into labor, or ordering her not to.

"That pain—" she could hear the hysteria in her own voice.

"I saw." Dr. Ashlar assured her. "You're going to be fine, and so is the baby. I promise."

He turned to Officer Weaver, standing protectively over America. "Count for her."

"Count?" Weaver asked, confused.

"Seven seconds in, eleven seconds out." Dr. Ashlar said. "In through her nose, out through her mouth. Understand?"

"Yes, sir." Weaver knelt before America so that they were face to face.

"Your Majesty, do you understand?"

America was choking back tears now, convinced that she was about to lose Maxon and her baby, all because she couldn't control her own breathing.

"Damn it." Dr. Ashlar swore again. "Cat!" he yelled, and the nurse reappeared almost instantly, toting a small oxygen tank connected to a clear mask. "Thank God. Tend to the Queen."

"Of course." Cat knelt next to Officer Weaver. "Your Majesty? I'm Catherine, I'm one of the resident nurses here at the Palace. I'm going to help you breathe, okay?" She didn't wait for a response. "I'm going to put this mask on your face, it's going to deliver a higher concentration of oxygen into your lungs. That's going to help both you and the baby, okay?" Again, she didn't wait. She slipped the mask over America's nose and mouth and held it there, firmly. "Look at me. Your Majesty, look at me." she waited. "Look at me, your Majesty."

America managed to make her eyes work, dragging them up to the kind green irises staring back at her.

"Good." Catherine said. She took America's hand and squeezed it, hard. "Officer Weaver is going to count for you, while I keep track of your pulse. He's going to count to seven, while you breathe in through your nose. I want you to focus on expanding your stomach as much as possible, figuratively putting all of that air into your belly with the baby instead of into your chest. Officer Weaver is going to count to eleven while you breathe out."

Another pain tore through America's abdomen and she cried out again, the sound muffled in the plastic mask. These did not have the build up of normal contractions, but there could be no doubt that that's what they were.

"That will stop happening if you do as I tell you." Catherine said, urgently but reassuringly. "We need to do this for the baby. Come on, your Majesty."

Officer Weaver met Nurse Catherine's eyes and nodded, beginning to count steadily to seven, and America did her best to inhale the whole time. Her body was shaking, the muscles in her chest revolting against her, but through sheer force of will, she continued to shakily suck in breath through her nose.

"Good job." Catherine complimented, as Officer Weaver began the long, steady count out and America blew the air out through a tiny hole in her mouth. Exhaling was easier, much more of a letting go of effort.

After a few breaths, when it seemed like America and Weaver were both getting into a good rhythm, Nurse Catherine began speaking over Officer Weaver's steady counting.

"Those contractions were happening because your body was in distress. Your brain releases hormones when you experience stress, and those hormones trigger all kinds of physiological responses. In the wild, for you to experience the amount of stress you have today, you'd have to be pretty close to death. Your body has an instinct to get rid of anything that might slow you down in a life-or-death situation, including the baby."

America's eyes widened in horror, but the nurse merely shook her head.

"Everything's going to be fine. Once your body realizes that you are okay, it will stop triggering contractions. So you're going to keep breathing, and once your pulse evens out, I'm going to bring you a glass of water that you're going to drink all of. Dehydration can trigger contractions, too. Then, when Dr. Ashlar is done with his Majesty, he'll give you and the baby a thorough screening. My guess is, you're nowhere near early labor, ma'am. You probably haven't dilated so much as a quarter of a centimeter. Your body is just having a small meltdown, which you can control, which you _must _control, for your sake and for the baby's."

America knew she was getting better, because she heard every word. She locked eyes with Weaver and continued breathing for several more rounds. Finally, the nurse placed a hand over Weaver's and guided it to the oxygen mask. He was going to take over holding it steady. Nurse Catherine stood, quickly swept out of the room, and promptly returned with a tall glass of water.

"Are you feeling better?" Catherine asked America.

America nodded.

"Any more pains?"

America shook her head.

"Good. Let's take the mask off for a minute and see how you do."

Officer Weaver stopped counting and removed the mask. Nurse Catherine handed the glass of water to America's trembling hands, and then turned the oxygen tank off. While America worked on sipping the water and taking steady breaths, Nurse Catherine cleaned the cut on Weaver's head, determining that it was shallow and would not require stitches. She placed three small bandages laterally across the cut and announced that Weaver was as good as new.

When she checked America's pulse again, it was with an approving smile. "Much better, Ma'am. Stay put." Then she turned and rejoined Dr. Ashlar as if she'd never left his side.

Maxon looked better over there, though still unconscious. Now that more of his wounds were treated, it was easy to see that only a handful had been deep enough to require stitches. The rest were shallow and, now that the blood had been cleaned away, looked reasonably treatable. There was a deep, almost black bruise on Maxon's chest, right over his heart. That concerned America most.

"Um… Dr. Ashlar?" She tested out her voice. It worked.

"Yes, your Majesty?" he was still hyper-focused on Maxon.

"What is that bruise on his chest?"

Dr. Ashlar stepped aside to allow Nurse Catherine to insert an IV line into Maxon's wrist. As he waited, he stood upright for the first time since Maxon had been brought in, and his back cracked appreciatively. "When your husband was brought in, there was a large piece of shrapnel sticking out of what we thought was his heart."

America blinked, eyes darting to Maxon's chest. It was a bruise, certainly, but there was no hole.

"On cutting away his jacket and shirt, we found that the shrapnel was actually lodged into a small red camera in his suit breast pocket. The camera is warped beyond usefulness, I'm afraid, but it did save his Majesty's life."

America felt herself collapsing into gasps again, and reached for the plastic mask on her own. Dr. Ashlar hurried to her side and adjusted the tank so that oxygen was flowing through the mask. Hot tears fell down her cheeks, but other than a few sobs, she kept her breathing steady.

While she did this, Dr. Ashlar pried Maxon's eyelids open and checked the state of his pupils one more time, and Nurse Catherine fetched a blanket. For the first time, America realized that Maxon's clothes had been cut away down to his boxer shorts, which he liked to sleep in when it was warm enough, so now that his blood had been cleaned off he looked like he could be sleeping.

"Why is he unconscious?" America found herself asking, before she even realized she had lowered the oxygen mask. "Why isn't he awake right now?"

"He hit his head pretty hard when he fell back. He has sustained a concussion that I'll be keeping an eye on for a few days."

"I was standing right behind him. Weaver, who pulled Maxon back?"

"Avery, your Majesty."

"They couldn't have been more than a foot away from us, where we fell." America mused.

"I suppose not, ma'am." Weaver acknowledged.

There was a knock at the door, tentative and with an odd rhythm, and then the door to the hospital room opened slowly. Stavros stood on the other side, looking thoroughly shocked by everything around him. He took in the sight of Maxon and then America with wide, worried eyes. He hadn't been at the party, at Maxon's insistence, and now America was glad. She was glad for every single person they'd kept from that Great Room.

"Your Majesty." Stavros bowed to America. "How are you?"

Dr. Ashlar was the one who replied, in an almost defensive tone, "She hasn't been checked over yet, Adviser Stavros, we don't know how she is."

"I'm… hanging in there, Stavros. For now." America said, looking between her doctor and Maxon's chief adviser, confused. "Why are you here?"

"Well… there are decisions that need to be made, or at least approved, and with his Majesty being… incapacitated… temporarily, I'm afraid the responsibilities fall on you."

"Oh." America swallowed. "I see."

"I'm sorry. I know you're meant to be on maternity leave, but I'm afraid we need your guidance. I'm here to help, of course, but we really can't wait much longer." Stavros said.

"I understand."

"I know your husband is in the hospital and, of course, you wish to stay by his bedside, but Illéa must have a strong leader right now."

America almost laughed. She felt anything but strong. She remembered how tired she'd been at the party, before the explosion. Now here she sat, teetering back and forth on the precipice of another anxiety attack, tear stains on her cheeks, hands shaking, and trying to ward off contractions that threatened to send her into stress-induced early labor.

"What needs to happen in the next twelve hours?" America asked, her voice coming out horse, half a raspy whisper.

"We need confirmation that we've collected all of the rebels, and they need trials as well as punishments. The Palace needs to be re-secured. Half of the guards need to rotate out for at least four hours of sleep, and then the other half need to rotate out."

"So then I need to see Commander Leger."

"Yes, ma'am." Stavros nodded, taking her deduction to be a command. "A press release explaining what happened needs to be sent out, and a formal, preferably video'd statement from you would be helpful, reassuring the people that everything is fine."

"Then bring me Gavril, and my maid, Mary."

"Yes, ma'am. The damage to the Palace needs to be properly assessed and immediate plans need to be made for repairs."

"Silvia."

"Yes, ma'am." Stavros agreed. "The death tolls and injuries need to be officially tallied, and arrangements need to be made for the dead."

America blinked, finally stumped. "Who—"

Stavros anticipated her question, "Dr. Ashlar will tally the injured, as part of his responsibilities as head of the Palace hospital wing. I recommend having Leger assign one of his men to tally the dead, contact the Angeles mortuary, and have the bodies moved."

"Yes."

"Individual families of our deceased will need to be notified."

"Someone should do that in-person."

"Very well, ma'am. Leger will attend to those details."

"I'd like a list of our dead, too. I'd like to call their families later this week, I think. Or perhaps write them. There will be posthumous medals awarded."

"Yes, ma'am. When we get an official count, I'll have the paperwork copied and waiting on your desk. Once we have both counts, they'll be sent to me, to you, and to Gavril. Gavril will need to release the death and injury counts for both sides."

"Yes." America nodded. At least that much she was familiar with.

"That will be all for the next twelve hours, ma'am."

"Alright, good. I need to meet with every person we've named."

"Yes, ma'am. In your office?"

"No. Here. I still need to be looked over, and I won't need long with each of them."

"Yes, ma'am."

"And Stavros? If Commander Leger is certain that the Palace is secure, then I would like my family with me, please."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Immediately. Would you see to that first thing?"

"Right away."

"Thank you."

Stavros paused on his way out the door, just as America was commending herself. She realized that she did a reasonably good Maxon impression when she needed to. Those years of childishly imitating his 'king' voice were actually paying off. She'd never had to be the Queen without her king before, and she didn't want to make a habit of it, but she thought Maxon would be proud of the way she'd handled Stavros just then. At least she hadn't faltered.

"Ma'am?" Stavros said, tentatively. He was second-guessing himself again. "I know you haven't been checked over yet, but… you _are _alright, aren't you?"

"I'm going to be." America promised him. She tried to make herself sound certain, like she wasn't still bracing herself for more abdomen-shattering contractions.

"She needs to keep her stress levels from spiking, Adviser Stavros, the baby's wellbeing depends on it. We don't want the heir born tonight, particularly not in an emergency operation."

Stavros seemed to grow pale at the thought. "Absolutely not. We'll take care to help her as much as possible."

Dr. Ashlar frowned, but he seemed satisfied by the answer.

* * *

While America waited for the people she'd summoned to arrive, Dr. Ashlar took her to a room down the hall from Maxon for her checkup. She'd asked to stay with her husband, but Dr. Ashlar wanted to do an ultrasound, and the machine was too big to move.

America's blood pressure was recorded (A little higher than usual, but that wasn't surprising after the night she'd had), and the baby's heart rate was tracked (A little faster than usual, something to monitor for the next few days).

America removed her fancy gown, now dusty, bloody, and torn, and slipped on a hospital gown provided by Dr. Ashlar. Just as she was situating a blanket over her legs and settling into the usual partially reclined position for her ultrasound, the door to her room burst open.

"God, Ames!" May was the first one through, launching herself into America's arms.

"We heard the explosion all the way in the safe room!" Magda said, following May and positioning herself up by America's head. She smoothed the hair off of America's face, "Are you alright?"

"I think so." America said. "I was lucky… Maxon…" she didn't want to have another panic attack, and she could feel her chest tightening. She breathed deliberately, "He protected me. So did Officer Weaver."

"And how are they?" Kenna asked. "No one would tell us anything, and then Maxon's adviser came to get us, but he wouldn't answer any of our questions. He just said you needed us."

"I do." America gulped, realizing how true it was. "I do need you… Officer Weaver is alright. He got scratched up, but he's been treated. He's reporting to Aspen for orders, but he said he'll be checking on me periodically. He's worried about the baby, I fell pretty hard when he pulled me back from the explosion, and then he had to lay on top of me to shield me from debris…" she bit her lip hard, trying not to relive the explosion, and failing.

"Ames?" It was James' steady voice. "You haven't told us about Maxon."

That in itself told them a lot. If Maxon was alright, America would have reassured them right away.

James tried again, "America? Is Maxon okay?"

America tore her eyes away from her belly and met James' worried expression. She answered him as best she could, by wordlessly shrugging her shoulders. She genuinely did not know.

Dr. Ashlar cleared his throat, studying the new additions to the room. "His Majesty has suffered a severe concussion, as well as multiple abrasions to his torso and legs, some of them severe. He has a few mild burns and some acute bruising, but his condition is not critical. His heart and lungs are functioning normally, and I expect him to be regaining consciousness soon."

"How soon?" America asked, unable to keep the hopefulness from her tone.

"There's no way to be certain, ma'am, but there is nothing in the nature of his injuries that would lend itself to prolonged unconsciousness. The sooner he awakens, the better."

"Yes." On that point, America agreed.

"We should hurry along with this ultrasound." Dr. Ashlar said. "I'd like to have a good look at the baby and then release you to attend to your duties. I have other patients awaiting care."

"Of course." America agreed, pulling her hospital gown up above her stomach.

Gerad crawled up onto the foot of America's bed, pulling her feet, poking out of the bottom of the blanket, into his lap. James and Kenna came around to Dr. Ashlar's side of the bed, where Maxon usually liked to stand. Kenna laced her fingers through America's and squeezed reassuringly, and James rested his chin on Kenna's shoulder, eyes glued to the screen. This was the first time America's family was getting to attend an ultrasound. America was inexpressibly glad to have them with her.

As Magda continued to brush her fingers through America's hair, Dr. Ashlar spread the clear, cold gel onto America's stomach. He needed much more now than he had months ago, for America's first ultrasound. Her belly was now many, many times its original size.

Dr. Ashlar placed the wand on her lower belly and looked around for a moment before locating the baby's face. "There it is." Dr. Ashlar said, warmly.

The machine was emitting the baby's heartbeat, but the rhythm didn't sound faster to America's ears. "Is the heart still beating too quickly?" America asked.

Dr. Ashlar nodded, seriously. "It's likely a response to the hormones it has been exposed to tonight. Specifically the stress hormones. We'll keep a close eye on the baby for the next few days, and it should go back to normal."

Dr. Ashlar returned to studying the baby's features, the little face clearly visible mere centimeters away from the wand, but completely out of reach until the time of its birth.

"I think it looks like you." Kenna said, and America was surprised to find tears on her sister's cheeks.

"Really? That's what I look like to you?" America forced a giggle, trying to joke. It was obviously the shadowed outline of a baby's face, and not much resembling America's adult features at all.

"That's what you looked like when you were a baby." Kenna said, giving America's hand a squeeze.

May crawled the rest of the way onto the bed next to America and laid her body flush with her older sister's. "I think that's what Astra looked like, too."

"I think that's what all babies look like." America objected.

"Nah." James shook his head. "It has Maxon's nose."

That made America laugh, genuinely. The sound was surprising, but it seemed to thaw the temperature in the room by ten degrees. "That is _not _what Maxon's nose looks like."

"I mean, it's a smaller version, sure." James grinned. "I don't know. I'm going to dig through those photographs of his and see if I can find one from when he was a baby. You'll see what I mean."

"How do you know what he looked like?" America asked, amused.

"I remember when Maxon was a baby!" James defended his assertion. "I was a strapping five-year-old when he was born. I remember the parades, the fireworks. My parents didn't have to go to work the next day, but they still got paid. We even got cake from the bakery in celebration. I remember the face of the baby that got me cake in the middle of the week for seemingly no reason. Maxon's been my best buddy since the day he was born, he just didn't know it yet."

America's expression grew strained in the short silence that followed, listening to the sound of the baby's painfully racing heartbeat, thinking of that story from James' childhood. Maxon was already missing so much.

"Do you know what?" Magda said, purposefully breaking the ice that had frozen over the group as she gazed transfixed at her future grandchild on the screen. "I think you're right, James. I remember when Maxon was born, too, and I think that looks a lot like his nose did."

"See?" James said, pridefully.

"It looks cute." May said, simply, to end the debate.

"It looks a little like a ghost or a zombie." Gerad tilted his head to the side. "It could have come from a horror movie."

"That's only because we can't see its warm, peachy skin or its beautiful eyes." May reassured her little brother. Then she grinned, "I hope it has red hair."

"Astra said the same thing." America squeezed her sister tighter to her side.

"They'd look like siblings, if that baby came out with red hair. Astra would love that." Kenna smiled.

James chuckled, "I think she's going to be in heaven either way. It took a while after you broke the news of your pregnancy to us for her to fully understand. We had to explain several times about how babies needed lots of time to grow strong enough to come out of their mommy's tummies and play."

"She hasn't asked us how babies get into their mommy's tummies yet, which is nice." Kenna said, musing. "Although, I think she thinks women can make them all on their own. Like we just decide we want a baby, and one appears in our stomach."

"That's fine." James said, his protective, fatherly tone of voice sneaking in. "Let her think that for a few more years." Then he shook his head and his tone returned to normal, "Anyway, now she understands and the hype is really building up."

"I don't think it helps that the baby is coming between her birthday and Christmas. Like it's part of this amazing trifecta of excitement." Kenna sighed.

"She's stoked in a way we did not expect her to be." James agreed.

"That's good, though." May said. "She's already so compassionate and caring, not just for a kid her age, but for anyone. She's a complete sweetheart, she's going to be an amazing mini-mommy to this baby. She'll learn so much, helping to feed and change it, helping to give it baths and put it down for naps."

"I'm looking forward to joint nap time." Kenna agreed. "Astra's pretty susceptible to persuasion. If she sees someone else napping, she's a lot easier to put down, herself. I think the same will be true of bath time. She might like to climb into the tub with the baby."

America grinned, "That'll be great. They're going to be quite the team, running around this palace in a couple of years."

"Yeah, they're going to own the place." James agreed. "If the baby is a boy, then Illéa's going to have a new king and queen on its hands. A kid king and queen."

America liked the sound of that. The kid king and queen of Illéa.

While they'd been talking, Dr. Ashlar had been studying the rest of the baby's body, slowly examining the whole of America's stomach with the wand. "Well, your Majesty. I don't see anything that would indicate any damage to the baby. No breaks, no swelling. The baby looks to be completely unharmed."

"Oh, thank God." America breathed. She couldn't imagine if Dr. Ashlar had found a broken arm or broken leg. The pain her child would be in, without even being able to cry about it. It was an excruciating thought.

"The baby is healthy." Dr. Ashlar said, "Other than the elevated heart rate."

"I'm hoping to sleep in a few hours." America said. "Do you think that will help?"

"Absolutely." Dr. Ashlar nodded. "I highly recommend sleep and rest. If you can't sleep or rest your mind, at least rest your body as you contend with the fallout from the attack."

"I'll try." America said. Then she put on her Queen voice and stated, "I'd like to stay close to the hospital wing for a little while, in case I start contracting again."

"What?" Kenna spoke for the whole family. "Contracting _again_? Ames!"

"Her Majesty experienced two rather strong, but isolated contractions earlier this evening. They were triggered by stress, and we do not expect a recurrence." Dr. Ashlar explained, calmly. "But," he turned to America, "I think that's a wise instinct, ma'am."

"I'd like to use one of the rooms next to Maxon's."

"I'll have one cleared right away."

"Thank you."

Dr. Ashlar bowed and left the room, and May sopped up the gel on America's stomach with some tissues on the stand next to the hospital bed.

"What now?" Gerad asked, sounding eager. As usual, he wanted to help.

America closed her eyes for a moment, melting back onto the bed. Letting her tense muscles turn to jelly underneath her, and acknowledging for the first time the burning pain in her right shoulder blade.

"You should sleep." America heard herself saying. "All of you should get some sleep." When she opened her eyes, her entire family blinked back at her, disbelieving. She sighed, "Seriously? It's two in the morning, and I know you didn't get much rest in the safe room tonight."

"Kenna and I aren't even blinking for long periods of time until Astra gets back from her sleepover." James said, firmly.

"That's understandable." America turned to May and Gerad.

"Yeah, right." May rolled her eyes.

"Nice try, Ames." Gerad agreed.

"We can help, and even if we can't, we're not splitting up right now." May insisted.

"Yeah." Gerad nodded. "We're staying with you."

"Do you even understand that you just survived a bomb explosion?" May demanded. "You expect us to go off on our own at a time like this?"

America frowned. She probably _didn__'__t_ understand that she'd survived a bomb explosion, honestly. She was still processing everything. "Okay, then." she agreed. She closed her eyes and took a few more focused breaths. "Mary should be waiting for me nearby. I need her first."

"I'll go." Magda volunteered.

"She'll probably have guessed, but tell her that I need clothes, hair, and makeup. And…" America glanced awkwardly at James and Gerad, who both covered their ears with their hands and started humming. America smiled at their silliness, but took advantage of it. "I've hurt my shoulder blade. I can't wear a normal bra right now… maybe even any bra right now. She'll think of something to get me through the next twelve hours."

"Of course." Magda stood, brushing a hand across May's back and ruffling Gerad's hair as she left.

"Ger," America said, "Aspen's going to be somewhere nearby, too. Tell him that I'm getting a quick shower and changing clothes, and that I'll be out soon. Dr. Ashlar has cleared out a room next to Maxon's, that's where we're going to meet as soon as I'm ready."

"Okay." Gerad hurried out of the room, pleased with his task. He felt right at home with the guards, and appreciated when America acknowledged this.

"May, I need food and baby aspirin."

"Baby aspirin?"

"It's gentle enough that it won't hurt the baby, but effective enough that it helps with swelling. Dr. Ashlar's had me taking some daily to help with the normal pregnancy aches and pains. I've got a bottle in my room."

"Right. And food?"

"No leftovers from the party. Actually… have the kitchens donate all of those leftovers. I don't want to see them again."

"Of course." May pressed a kiss to America's cheek and then climbed out of bed. She was out the door in a swish of long, red hair.

America pinched the bridge of her nose with her newly free fingers, her other hand still clutched to Kenna's. "James, please sit with Maxon for a while. I don't want him to be alone, if he wakes up while I'm dealing with all of this."

"Sure." James nodded.

"And call Marlee. She won't mind being woken up. Make sure she knows that we're all… alive, at least. And that she can come back as soon as the kids wake up."

James took a moment to study her face, then he leant over and kissed Kenna's temple. "Alright. I'll keep an eye on him for you. I'll make sure you know the second he starts twitching, if it looks like he's going to wake up."

"Thank you." America smiled, bravely. Gratefully.

Finally, it was just America and Kenna, holding hands tightly. They sat there, enjoying the cool silence. It unnerved America when she felt her own fatigue catching up with her. She had so much to do before she could sleep.

"I can't lift my arms over my head." America announced, suddenly. "My shoulder blade… well, I still think it's just bruised, but the swelling is getting worse now that it's been a couple of hours."

"Of course."

"I need help washing my hair."

Kenna smiled, brushing her thumb against America's hand. "I can help. Just like when we were girls and we used to take baths together."

"I look a little different than I did when I was four." America gestured down to her enormous stomach.

Kenna laughed and pressed a kiss to the top of America's head. "You were always so modest. Leave that cotton hospital gown on, then. It'll dry, and it's yours anyway. This whole hospital is yours."

America nodded, glad she didn't have one of those gowns that was open at the back. "Okay. That sounds good."

Kenna disappeared from the room for a minute, leaving America with a moment to herself. It was good that Kenna was so quickly, because if America had been left alone for any longer, she'd have had a meltdown.

When she returned, Kenna had small bottles of minty shampoo, conditioner, and body soap, as well as a new toothbrush, small tube of toothpaste, and a large-toothed comb. "Let's get that explosion off of you, Ames." Kenna said, sweetly.

That was the first time it occurred to America that she probably had tiny, microscopic bits of K all over her, along with the rest of the dirt and ash from the explosion. She hurried out of bed and into the small, private bathroom faster than her stiff muscles wanted her to go, but she regretted nothing when the cool spray of shower water hit her face in a glorious downpour. With her sister's help, she would wash this day off of her. With enough soap and water, she would be clean.

* * *

The meeting with Stavros, Aspen, Gavril, and Silvia really didn't take long, once America was dressed. She ate the breakfast May brought back for her in the room she'd commandeered next to Maxon's. One by one, her family returned from their tasks and went to stand vigil with James over Maxon's unconscious body. America liked knowing that, if Maxon awoke now, he'd be surrounded by family. She knew that would put a smile on his face, first thing.

Silvia was the first to curtsey out. She knew what needed to be done. She'd contact the same architect who'd remodeled America's room and ask him to reinvent the Great Room. It would be tested for structural soundness, and several design options would be on America's desk by Monday. None of that could happen until sunrise, however, so she was off to get some sleep.

Gavril was the next out. He didn't want America to worry about a thing. He'd take care of drafting the statement and preparing her office, and in an hour she'd go in and record her message to the nation. Mary had dressed her impeccably, so she wouldn't even have to concern herself with changing clothes.

Aspen stayed longest, even though he had the most to do. He informed her that all of the rebels from the camp had been captured in the tunnels, that rebel leaders were being questioned now, and the correct sentencing would be determined on a case-by-case basis over the next week. Not all of them would die, which was what America had wanted to know. Even now, the idea of killing _all_ of them felt wrong. It felt like what Clarkson would have done.

Aspen took a moment once Stavros left to hug America close to his chest.

"You're alright." he breathed.

"Yeah. It worked. I made it. _We_ made it." America said, including the baby in her assessment.

"You have no idea… When I heard the bomb go off…"

America nodded, "I still don't understand half of what happened. I thought…"

"What?"

"I thought… I don't know. I don't understand how he got to the party—"

"We're investigating now."

"Well…" she sighed and shrugged, her shoulder stiff and painful as she moved it. It hardly mattered that there was an investigation now. K was dead. She blinked, "He's definitely dead, right? He didn't fake his death, he won't be coming back later?"

"No, he's dead. We've recovered enough… pieces—" America winced, and Aspen nodded understandingly. "He's gone. Others could, theoretically, spring up in his place and try to take on the mantle of the King of Spades, but I don't think that's likely. These are the last of a dying breed of rebel. These are rebels handmade by King Clarkson's policies. There are no more like them being produced, now that Maxon has taken over."

"That's good to hear."

"I'm trying to tell you that you're safe, Mer." Aspen said, hugging her again. "You don't look very relieved, though."

America breathed in that scent, that familiar, warm, comforting Aspen scent and sighed. "No. Not until Maxon wakes up. Not until we're both out of the hospital and healthy. Maybe not even until this baby is born and I can see for myself that it's has ten fingers, ten toes, and no damage from tonight."

Aspen nodded. "Give yourself time. But don't be _afraid_ to feel safe, when you finally do. Maxon's plan worked. It didn't work exactly how we'd hoped, but it did work, in the end."

"It got K into the Palace, but we didn't trap him." America argued. "I just don't understand…"

Aspen tilted his head to the side, considering this. "He… listen, I wasn't going to talk about this with you… at least not until Maxon wakes up, but… come here." He guided her to the hospital bed and helped her get comfortable, then he sat next to her knees, facing her. "The explosive he had on his person _wasn__'__t_ very powerful."

America scoffed, "Aspen, are you kidding right now? Maxon is next door, lying in a coma—"

"I mean, for the whole wide world of explosives he could have worn, he did not choose a powerful one."

"…Why?"

"He thought he'd have friends nearby. The rest of the rebels were meant to be waiting just outside, ready to kill everyone within. They didn't think the whole party would be armed operatives, they were expecting civilians. Imagine if their plan had worked. A bomb goes off, there's fire and ash and chaos, and in marches an entire camp's worth of rebels, armed to the teeth, opening fire on the civilians inside. The King and Queen have not been blown to pieces—"

"Why not?"

"Because your bodies need to be identifiable for the public to accept your deaths and accept that the monarchy is over and the rebels have claimed the empty throne."

"Oh." America was glad he'd relocated them to the bed now. She let her head loll to the side at the thought.

"See, I figure K wanted one last look at you before you died. He wanted to see the moment you realized that everything was wrong, and nothing would ever be right again. That's the moment he relived in his head for years, wasn't it? The moment his kids died?"

"You mean you were actually paying attention to me, all those times I tried to make you care about K's backstory?" America grinned.

Aspen smiled affectionately, and shrugged sheepishly. "It was interesting information to have, even if it wasn't very useful."

"So, K wanted to watch our devastation as we recognized him and realized that our lives were over?"

"Yeah. _I_ would. If I had to listen to Meri's screams in my head every night before I fell asleep, or dream about those soldiers tossing Astra onto the burning rubble of her home, I'd want to personally take away some happiness."

America blinked, heavily, "I don't need the visual, Aspen."

"Sorry." Aspen sounded truly apologetic. "All I mean to say is that, the only way to get to see you and the King, to see the moment you gave up, and to get what the rebels were looking for with a destroyed Great Room but recognizable monarch bodies, was for _K to wear the bomb_. If someone else had worn the bomb, you might not have even known what was happening until you were already dead or unconscious. Certainly not the unsullied versions of yourself that he got tonight."

America shook her head, "He'd rather watch us tremble than actually be the one to kill us?"

Aspen looked sympathetically at America, "The killing part wasn't what made him the monster he became. It was the torture, Ames, it was the screaming. His wife, in labor with their child for far too long, gasping and screaming, tortured to death by the birth of their stillborn baby. They both could have lived if there had been better medical care in the south, but since there wasn't, they died a tormented death. The screams of his daughter, beaten and raped before being thrown onto the pyre of their family home. The same home she'd been born in, learned to walk in, learned to paint and make music in. It was never death that set him off, lots of people lost loved ones to death at the hands of King Clarkson's regime. He didn't care as much for the killing as he did for the torture. He wanted to watch you realize that you were dead, before you'd even died. That's what he did with those captives that he killed on camera, remember?"

America was stunned, "You've done a little research of your own on K."

"A little." Aspen confessed. "It _was _interesting, to get inside his head, Ames. You're a smart strategist."

"But, Aspen, the notes—" America tried to argue, but even those looked different under the light of this conversation. "They weren't really about killing me if he ever saw me, were they?"

"No, those were just the words K wrote."

"They were about torturing Maxon with the possibility."

"Yes. And you knew that, on some level, right from the start."

"So K died, thinking we were about to die."

"Yes."

"And he'll never know that we're fine and the baby is healthy, and the monarchy is strong?"

"No."

"He died thinking he'd won."

"Yes." Aspen said. "He likely felt extreme peace in his last moments. Does it matter?"

America swallowed, "I suppose that was the first moment of peace he'd had since his children were murdered?"

"I would guess. Isn't that how it would have been for you?"

There was no way to say what America would have done in his position. She didn't think she would have become a crazed murderer, but she couldn't swear to it.

"Thank you, Aspen."

"For?"

"Everything. But specifically, for helping me understand. For talking this through with me."

Aspen nodded, leaning in to kiss her cheek. "Knowing you, I figured it was the only way you'd get any sleep for the next few days."

"We're safe now?"

"Safe." Aspen smiled. "I _would _even let you visit Angeles without personally guarding you, but you're far too pregnant for all of that."

"Well, am I safe enough for Lucy and Meri to come and visit me this weekend?"

"Definitely. I'll ask."

"Thanks. I love you, Aspen."

"Love you, too, Mer. Take a nap. Gavril will send someone for you when it's time to record your address to the nation."

America didn't think she'd honestly be able to find any sleep, as wound up as she was, with all of these thoughts buzzing through her mind. She also had the feeling that if she slept now, and it was only for the hour until Gavril would be ready for her, she'd honestly wake up more tired than she would have been if she'd never napped in the first place.

So instead, she dragged herself out of bed and tiptoed into Maxon's room.

"Still nothing?" America asked, softly. She kept her voice down, seeing that May and Gerad were asleep in the corner. Someone must have dragged in a couch for them, because it certainly hadn't been there earlier, but it was the perfect size for them to sleep, each curled on opposite ends, their feet tangled in the middle.

There were more chairs now, too, enough for Kenna, Magda, James, and even an empty one next to Kenna. James leapt up from where he'd been sitting, right by Maxon's side, and offered America that chair. He moved to Kenna's side.

"A nurse has been by four times." Kenna said. "No significant changes. It's good that he's holding steady, but…"

"But we want him to wake up." James frowned.

America nodded. "Yes, we do." she said, simply.

She lowered herself heavily onto the bed at his side and took his limp hand in her own, the one without any tubes going into his wrist. She pressed his hand onto her stomach at the top, where the baby's feet were, and then she leant down and pressed a kiss to Maxon's forehead. She stayed just like that for a minute, her lips at his golden locks, and it didn't take long for her to feel what she was waiting for. The baby kicked Maxon's hand, hard.

"Feel that?" she murmured to her husband, speaking softly, her lips tickling his ear. "The baby misses you. We want you to wake up now, Maxon." She pressed a kiss to the hair right by his ear and then she added, "Please."

She stayed like that, her cheek resting against his, until the baby kicked two more times. Maxon hadn't so much as twitched, she hadn't really expected him to, but she knew that some part of his brain had heard her. His hand felt that baby, even if his consciousness hadn't, and if there was one thing America knew, it was that Maxon loved her with _everything_ he had. Every part of his brain adored her, even the subconscious parts. Every particle of his being was a father to this baby and a husband to her, so she knew she'd just communicated with him, even if he couldn't communicate back. Even if he wouldn't consciously remember it happening.

When she heaved herself upright and gently returned Maxon's hand to the bed, her mother, sister, and brother-in-law were staring away, trying their best not to intrude on America's moment with Maxon.

"So, Ames," Kenna broke the silence. "What's happening next?"

"I have a bit of time, I'd like to use it to sit with Maxon. In a little while, Gavril is going to send for me, and I'll go record a message to the nation about the attack. We're hoping Maxon will wake up and feel up to recording something by the afternoon… but honestly, at this point, I just want him here to talk with. He's always my anchor in these kinds of storms. I feel a little lost without him." America admitted, knowing Maxon's ears could hear her, and his brain could interpret the words, even if he couldn't consciously acknowledge them. On some level, Maxon knew how much she missed him. That was what mattered to her.

"Just so you know… you've been doing an amazing job, Ames." James said, seriously. "I'm sure you feel like a usurper or something right now, but you're not. You're a magnificent queen."

America smiled, even laughed a little at his 'usurper' line, and thanked him.

She waited for Gavril's summons, sitting next to Maxon the whole time. Eventually she moved into the chair so that she could see her family better, but when she did, she kept his hand laced in hers so that he could still feel her there. They talked about Astra's birthday (which was quickly approaching), the future niece or nephew Kenna and James were going to give America after that birthday, and how soon the Singers wanted to move back into the house in Angeles. Now that the rebel threat was neutralized, theoretically they could return home immediately. They'd still have their usual personal guards, and that should be more than adequate to keep them safe at home.

The thought of her family leaving the Palace made America much sadder than it should have. They would only be a short car ride away, which had been Maxon's whole point in buying the house for them in the first place. Gerad would get to return to his beloved soccer goal, and they'd all enjoy returning to their own rooms, their own lives. Astra probably barely remembered the place, and it was her home.

But Magda was quick to say that she wasn't going anywhere until after the baby was born. She'd stay put and enjoy the first few weeks of her grandchild's life, whilst staying right down the hall, thank you very much.

Kenna reminded America that she and Astra weren't really going anywhere, since Kenna was going to be the baby's nanny in a few weeks. They'd leave for weekends and days off, but they'd never go far. James added that he went where Kenna went, anywhere Kenna went, so he'd be close at hand, too.

America also knew that she'd have had to build a wall around the Palace a hundred miles high to keep May away from the baby once it was born, and Gerad would probably want to continue training with the guards a few times a week. As long as Aspen made it a condition of Gerad's training that he had to eat dinner with America and Maxon on the days he joined the guards, America would be able to live with that.

America was starting to nod off, listening to Kenna and Magda make plans for the baby's first few weeks of life. She could feel her head growing heavy, bobbing up and down as she struggled to stay awake. Suddenly someone was carrying her, and then setting her down on a soft place. A bed. She was in the room next to Maxon's, but she wasn't alone. After a moment, she felt two warm bodies stretch out next to her. Gerad and May.

Then, sometime later, soft voices. Several low voices, with low rumblings. America stretched her back and rubbed her stomach, enjoying the sensation of her fingers on her tight skin, even over the fabric of her soft dress. Next to her, Gerad mumbled a little in his sleep and rolled over before drifting off again.

"Ames." Someone was whispering right above her.

America blinked her heavy eyelids open. "Hm?"

Kenna stood on the side of the bed, studying her worriedly. "Gavril is here."

"Oh." America tried to sit up twice and failed before finally succeeding on her third attempt.

"I let you sleep as long as I could, and I'm sorry to disturb you, but—" Gavril's voice was apologetic.

"No, of course… how long was I asleep?"

"An hour and a half, give or take." James said. "Not counting the time you were bobbing back and forth in that chair before I carried you in here."

"Wow. Thank you, Gavril. I know I've put you behind schedule."

"Oh, your Majesty." Gavril shook his head and sighed. "If there was any way… if there was anyone else."

"I know."

"You've been through more than enough for one night."

"Let's go." America said.

May had awoken at some point during the exchange and moved out of the way so that America could get up. Kenna and May both offered her a hand, tugging her to her feet. America found her shoes placed neatly by the door and she slid into them.

"I'll go with you." Kenna announced.

"You don't need to, Ken, I'll be fine."

"I want to go." Kenna assured her.

"We'll go, too." May mumbled, taking her mother's hand.

"No, I'm fine—" America attempted to argue.

"You've never done one of these without Maxon." Magda said, seriously. "Let us be there for you."

America considered this. "But, Maxon—"

"We'll stay with him." James said, already dipping down to scoop up Gerad. "It'll be just us brothers. That way, _when _Maxon wakes up, I can send Gerad to sprint over and get you. It'll be more efficient this way." he paused, considering America's expression.

America didn't even know why she was arguing anymore. "Alright." she took Gavril's arm and let him lead her away, already giving her a summary of what to expect next. America liked this. She'd spent the last twelve hours with no idea of what to expect next, it was unbelievably nice to finally have someone outlining the next half hour in detail for her. Absolutely no surprises.

* * *

America was glad her family was with her when she recorded that message, in the end. She wasn't sure she could have gotten through announcing to the world that Maxon had been grievously injured and was now lying unconscious in the hospital wing at the Palace, without the warm, encouraging looks her mother and sisters were feeding her from behind the camera.

It felt like she was speaking for hours under the hot lights, sitting on one of the sofas in her office, but the actual statement was only two paragraphs long. One on the attack, the other on the state of the King, and a closing sentence reassuring the world that the state of the monarchy was strong and that Maxon would be back at the helm very soon.

Gavril didn't bother making her do a second or third take, he was genuine concerned about her wellbeing, and her first take was nearly perfect. Instead, he cleared out of her office with a bow and reassurances that he would take care of everything else, from a public relations perspective.

"You need to get some real sleep, America." Magda said, the second they were alone.

"I want to go back to Maxon."

"Maxon is well-tended, and still unconscious." Magda reminded her. "It would do you so much good to lay down in your own bed for a little while."

"I don't want him to be alone when he wakes up."

May giggled, "And what are his brothers? Imaginary friends?"

"I just meant that I should be there, to reassure him. He'll want to know what's happening-"

"Ames." Kenna breathed, stepping forward and placing a hand at America's elbow. "How do you think he'd feel if he woke up and you were sitting at his bedside, exhausted and desperately staving off preterm labor?"

"...Not great."

"And how would he feel if he woke up to his brothers' smiling faces and a reassurance from James that you and the baby are well and getting plenty of rest in your own bed?"

"...He'd probably be happy about that."

"Do you think he'll want you to immediately catch him up on all of the royal business you've been attending to, or do you think he'd appreciate some time to acclimate himself to his injuries and adjust to what's happening?"

"I get your point."

"Plus, Gerad's looking forward to having permission to sprint the length of the Palace. He's usually not allowed to run indoors, but he's always wanted to time himself trying. You don't really want to take that away from him, do you?"

"...Alright, fine. You win." America relented.

Kenna grinned and pressed a kiss to America's temple. "I'm so proud of you, do you know that?"

"We all are." Magda added. Then she smiled at her eldest daughter, "I'm proud of you, too, Kenna. You're a wonderful mother, and an amazing big sister. I don't think we tell you that often enough." Kenna grinned, sheepishly. She even blushed a little, but having her mother's blatant approval clearly made her very happy.

"Come on." May said, "Singer girl slumber party."

"Just for a few hours." America insisted, taking her little sister's hand.

"We'll see." May shrugged.

"No, not 'we'll see'. Everyone in this Palace works for me, I can have one of them come in and wake us up if you try to reset the alarm clock." America made her expression stern, but she didn't feel stern at all.

"You think there's a single person in this Palace who doesn't want to see you well-rested and recovering?" May's smile was impish.

"I'm sure that's what they want, but I'm also sure they'd rather I not throw them into the dungeons. "

May scoffed, "Your dungeons are full of rebels right now, your _majesty_. You don't have room for well-intentioned staff down there."

America felt the baby kick and quickly pressed May's hand to the spot, in time for another swift kick. "That's a good sign." America smiled tentatively as they began the walk to the third floor.

"Yes." May beamed. "That's definitely a step in the right direction."

* * *

America wasn't sure when she'd nodded off. For a while she didn't think that she'd be able to sleep at all, as worried as she was about Maxon, but she contented herself with lying still, closing her eyes, and listening to her sisters and mother murmur back and forth to each other. At some point those comforting, lulling sounds did the trick, and America fell into a dreamless, restful sleep.

She did not awaken slowly, groggily drifting from unconsciousness to consciousness like she usually did. No, she awoke all at once, surprised she'd even managed to sleep in the first place. She knew time had passed because the sun was burning bright through the curtains and the bed was empty except for one other occupant. The occupant who'd awoken her.

There were warm, little lips pressed to America's cheek, and a loud 'Mwah!' sound, and America's eyelids snapped open to find a pink-cheeked Astra grinning above her.

"Astra, baby, no—" Kenna was too late, chasing her daughter into the room.

Astra's breathing was fast, like she'd sprinted to America's bed. "Good morning, Aunt Ames."

"Good morning, my love." America smiled, returning Astra's kiss with one of her own.

Kenna's forehead was glistening with a light sheen of sweat and she was breathing quickly, too. "She asked for you, first thing. And then, when I told her where you were… she took off." Kenna said, gravely, and America laughed as Kenna collapsed onto the bed.

"Okay, Mommy?"

"Fine, baby, but you shouldn't run off without me like that. I want you to stay close and safe." Kenna explained.

"But I have to tell Aunt Ames about the ice cream!"

"You do?" Kenna asked.

"I had some for her, I have to tell her!"

America laughed, remembering the midnight conversation she and Astra had had, when Astra had promised to eat a scoop of ice cream on America's behalf. "So Kile's Grandma and Grandpa had ice cream, did they?"

"Oh, yes, _two _kinds!" Astra exclaimed.

"What kinds did they have?" America asked, as she underwent the herculean task of sitting herself upright in the bed and leaning against the headboard for support.

"Chocolate and blanilla!"

"Chocolate and vanilla? Those sound delicious. Did you try both of them?"

"Yes, the chocolate was for you."

"Because you know I love chocolate?"

"Mhmm." Astra grinned.

"Thank you so much. Was it delicious?"

"It was _very_ d… dishes." Astra nodded.

America pulled Astra in for a tight hug. "I'm so glad."

"And Kile's grandma will bring some here, to the Castle!"

"She'll bring some to the _Palace_?" America grinned.

"Yes, so we can have more."

"I would like that very much." America inhaled deeply. Astra smelled sweet and there was ginger on her breath. Maybe Kile's grandma had given them gingerbread cookies for the road?

Kenna cleared her throat and sat up, breathing starting to even out, crossing her legs. "We haven't talked about… anything yet. Astra just got back."

"Oh… alright." America understood. Astra didn't know about Maxon, yet.

"Baby okay?" Astra asked, studying America's stomach closely, patting it gently with her hands as if to test the consistency.

"Yes, I think the baby is doing just fine, now. For a little while, I thought it might come out and see us today."

"Really?" Astra grinned. "That would be fun!"

"Yes, but I'm glad the baby decided to stay inside."

"So it can be stronger?" Astra asked, wisely.

"Yes, exactly. I want it to be as strong as possible before it comes out into this great big world." America agreed, surprised at how true her words were. As uncomfortable as she was, she'd gladly carry this baby in her body for another nine months, if it meant keeping it safe.

"Where Mackin?" Astra asked, peeking under the blankets. No Maxon there.

Kenna answered first, clearly having been anticipating this conversation for hours now. "Maxon is sleeping, sweetheart."

"Not here." Astra said, then she crawled across the bed to Maxon's empty side and craned her neck over the edge, where she could peek through the open doors, across the family room, and into Maxon's room. "Not there."

"No, he's sleeping at the doctor's office."

Astra made a silly, sour face. "He got a shot?"

America winced horribly, the innocent words taking on a terrifying quality in her ears. _No, not this time, _America thought. _He did not get shot this time_.

"He did have to get a few shots to help him feel better." Kenna nodded.

"He sick?" Astra's eyes were wide now, as this news sank in.

"No, he's not sick. He got hurt."

Astra stared down at the bed, not saying a word. Her silence worse than anything America had ever heard, including the explosion. "He got hurt?" Astra finally asked, her voice several notes higher than it usually was. Her words trembled, and she was clearly buying herself time with this question, time to process.

"He fell down and hit his head. He's got some scratches, too, but the doctor gave him bandages for those."

"Why?" Astra's high-pitched voice grew louder, less controlled. She was barely holding herself together.

"Some bad guys came." Kenna said, simply.

Astra's tears finally burst out. She looked so tiny, with her legs folded under her, sitting alone on Maxon's side of the bed. She wailed as if she had been the one to hit her head, as if Maxon's injuries were on her own small body.

America and Kenna both opened their arms to her, but she did not move. She folded her little arms across her little tummy and moaned, "W-W-Why?"

Kenna stopped waiting for Astra to move, and crawled over, scooping Astra into her arms and rocking her back and forth. "They were mad at Maxon because Maxon is the King, and the King is responsible for a lot of things." Kenna explained, gently, her mouth right by Astra's ear so that she could be heard over the little girl's cries. "Sometimes things go wrong out there, in the Kingdom, and it's easier to get mad at the King than to sit still and be sad about everything that went wrong. It's hard to understand, baby girl, even for grown ups."

"M-M-M-Mack-"

"He's alright!" Kenna promised. "He's resting up so he can get all better." This wasn't strictly true. Lying comatose in a hospital bed wasn't exactly the same thing as 'resting up' but it certainly sounded convincing when Kenna said it. "And all the bad guys are in jail now. We caught every single one of them, and Uncle Aspen is locking them up and throwing away the key."

"He throwing it away?" Astra asked, through tears, worried about the idea of this.

"So that no one can ever let the bad guys out again." Kenna explained.

"Oh." Astra pressed her little hands to her wet cheeks.

America met Kenna's eyes over Astra's head. Kenna was distressed, heartbroken for her daughter's pain. America waved them both over and Kenna nodded. She lifted Astra up and scooted over, depositing Astra at America's side and then snuggling in, herself.

Astra sat, sandwiched between her mother and her aunt, and she automatically put a hand at the top of America's stomach. That was where the baby's feet were, and after a moment of quiet tears and comforting embraces, Astra gasped.

"That baby kicked me." she announced, an odd giggle cracking right through the middle of a sob. Maxon and America had told her many times that the baby kicked and punched when it wanted to play (so that she understood that the baby wasn't trying to hurt her when it kicked at her).

"I think your baby cousin is worried about you right now." America said, running her fingers through Astra's hair.

"Really?" Astra hiccoughed.

"Yes." America said, softly. "The baby can hear you crying, and knows your voice, so it knows that you're sad."

Astra sniffed loudly and rubbed her eyes, trying to rein in her tears. "I want Mackin."

"I know." America said, aching. "Me, too."

"Let's… make some surprises for him, for when he wakes up." Kenna suggested, with a bracing tone. "Let's fill his room with presents so that he'll be very, very happy when he wakes up from his rest."

Astra lay perfectly still for a moment, still smushed between Kenna and America, and then she announced, "Brownies."

"We should bake him some brownies? Kenna asked.

"Yes." Astra nodded. "He loves those, I remember of Halloween."

"That's a _wonderful_ idea, baby. Maxon will be so happy." Kenna said.

"…Pictures." America added, feeling like Kenna was mothering her, too, and appreciating every moment of it. "Maxon loves pictures. We should take a bunch of pictures so he doesn't feel like he missed a single thing."

"Perfect, Ames." Kenna stroked America's hair, just like America was stroking Astra's hair.

"Toys!" Astra said. "He needs Blinky."

"Your favorite stuffed bear, are you sure?" Kenna asked, amazed.

"Well… just until Mackin feels better." Astra hedged.

"That is very thoughtful, Astra, I'm so proud of you." Kenna pressed a kiss to Astra's head. "You know, I've heard that Maxon is very fond of the gardens. They remind him of his favorite queen." Kenna winked at America. "What if we also brought him some flowers cut from the rosebushes by your special bench?"

"Yes." America leant her head on Kenna's shoulder. "Let's decorate his whole room with flowers and pictures and drawings. Let's keep ourselves very, very busy."

"Well, yeah. That's the idea." Kenna admitted.

* * *

Astra did not cry again. She became hyper-focused on the task at hand. She even laughed as she helped Kenna mix the batter for the brownies, while America lined a glass pan with butter from her place sitting on a stool.

Once the brownies were in the oven, while Astra licked the spoon and bowl, Kenna came over and leant close to America. "Any more contractions? Any cramping or pain?"

"No, I think my naps really helped."

"Good. You need to let me know immediately if you feel any pain, okay?"

"I promise."

Kenna pressed a kiss to America's cheek and then went over and stole the spoon from Astra to have a few licks of her own.

Out in the garden, America fumbled with one of Maxon's cameras, struggling to set it up to his exacting specifications, while Astra ran through the ground level of the tree castle and Kenna chased her. America finally got the contraption to cooperate and ended up taking a gorgeous picture of Astra swept up in Kenna's arms, both of them laughing. It would make an excellent Christmas present for James, all framed up.

Kenna took over the camera duties while America perched on the bench and showed Astra how to cut the stems of the roses and avoid the thorns. Astra pointed to the flowers she wanted Maxon to have, and America followed through with a pair of garden scissors. Astra got to cut a few stems herself, while being closely supervised. Afterward, Kenna showed the pictures she'd taken to America, and America nodded. Maxon would love those.

In addition to the hand-crafted signs telling Maxon how much they all loved him, Astra was illustrating a bedtime story for Maxon to read. It was primarily scribbles, but if you squinted and looked at it sideways, the vague outlines of a dragon, a pirate, a princess, and some kind of cat could be vaguely distinguished. America's job was to staple the book together so that it could be read like a "real book".

Astra was growing tired of coloring, and beginning to ask to see Maxon. It didn't matter that he was 'sleeping', she wanted to look him over. Kenna had just managed to convince her that Maxon needed some lotion, and maybe some beauty supplies when America heard the footsteps pounding down the hall.

Her heart leapt into her throat and she made herself breathe steadily as she turned and Gerad appeared, gasping for air, in the doorway.

She braced herself for the words 'He's dead'. For some reason, those were the only words her mind could anticipate. So when Gerad said the words, "He's awake!" at first, they didn't make any sense.

Awake in what way? Awake in the sense of being dead and transcending mortal understandings of time and space? That kind of awake?

Kenna laughed, almost like she could hear America's thoughts, "Ames. Maxon's back."

"He waked up?" Astra asked, appearing from the bathroom with a puffy makeup brush in her hands.

"He _woke _up." Kenna grinned.

"Yay! Let's go see him!" Astra exclaimed jumping at her mother, forcing Kenna to catch her and lift her up. "Let's bring his presents!"

"Alright. We'll gather everything together and get a maid to help us carry it all. Aunt Ames will go ahead and make sure Maxon is ready for visitors."

"…What?" Astra didn't understand.

"We need to make sure Maxon feels good enough to see us. Remember when you had the stomach bug, and you were too sick to see Kile? Even though you wanted to?"

"Like that?"

"Like that." Kenna nodded, then turned to America. "See you in a minute?"

"Yeah." America smiled. For the first time all day, breathing felt easy. Her chest rose and fell, her stomach growing and shrinking with absolutely no effort. She felt almost light. _Almost_. She was still heavily, enormously pregnant, after all.

Gerad led America down the hall and they could hear Astra and Kenna celebrating all the way until they got to the stairs.

America smiled down at her brother. "Thanks for getting me."

"Of course. He looked good… I mean, not _good, _but he remembers everything and stuff. He was asking for you, first thing, but we told him you were resting up. He liked that."

"Was he hurting?" America asked, biting her lip.

"No, it didn't look like it. The doctor gave him medicine, I think."

"Good." America blinked, remembering something Kenna mentioned earlier, "So, what was your time?"

"My time?"

"How fast did you make it from the hospital wing to Kenna's room?"

Gerad grinned, pleased with himself. "Three minutes."

America laughed and wrapped an arm over Gerad's warm shoulders. "That's gotta be a Palace record, kid."

* * *

James was coming out of Maxon's room just as Gerad and America arrived. He closed the door behind him before America could peek inside, but America didn't mind. It just meant she was able to focus on thanking her brother-in-law for his unwavering devotion to Maxon over the last twelve hours. She hugged him tightly.

"If you wait here, your wife and daughter will be along shortly. Astra _might _even share a brownie with you, if you play your cards right."

James laughed, "Alright, good. He's waiting for you in there."

America nodded and took a deep breath. She didn't know why she was nervous, it wasn't as if she was getting ready to go on the _Report _and demand the abolishment of the caste system live, in front of the entire country, or something. She opened the door and peeked inside.

Maxon was sitting upright, staring out the window. When he heard the door creak open, his eyes flitted to hers and his mouth burst into a smile.

"Hey." his voice was hoarse.

Hey? _Hey?_

"_Hey?__"_ America demanded, stepping into the room and closing the door behind her. "That's all I get after your stupid plan to trap K nearly got you blown up?"

"…Oh, um…" Maxon faltered, "Sorry?" he tried. He hadn't been expecting anger, and neither had she. How could she possibly be angry with him at a time like this? He was _alive _and _awake_ and K was gone. Everything was perfect.

She peered down at her belly and took a breath, "Hormones…" America mumbled. "I guess nature wants me to discourage this behavior in you so that you won't die and leave me with all of our children to defend from dinosaurs on my own."

Maxon chuckled and opened his arms to her. "Dinosaurs never co-existed with people."

"Great pythons, then." America hurried over and gently laid herself in his arms, pulling her legs up on the bed so that she was lying pressed to his side. "How are you?"

"I'm alright. No pain."

"Gerad told me Dr. Ashlar gave you something."

"That's right." He brushed her hair out of her face. "How about you?"

"I had a couple of contractions, right after the explosion."

"What?" his face grew heavy with concern.

"It's alright, though, it's under control. Dr. Ashlar and one of the nurses helped me through it. I'm fine now."

"Thank God."

America nodded. "You know… you shielded me from a lot of the shrapnel, Maxon. I hardly have a scratch. A jammed shoulder from where Weaver pulled me down and covered me, but other than that, the baby and I are in perfect condition."

"I'm so glad. That makes me so happy to hear." but he winced as he said it, his face grimacing.

"What is it?" America sat up. "What do you need?"

"Bucket." Maxon managed, pointing to a stainless steel bucket that one of the nurses had left by his bedside. America handed it to him just in time for him to heave the contents of his stomach into it.

His hair wasn't long enough to hold up for him, like he did whenever she thew up, so instead she gave him a light neck massage with her cool fingers and she murmured soothing words to him until he was done. She took the bucket to the bathroom and dumped it into the toiled, flushing it away and then rinsing the bucket in the tub.

"Ames," Maxon worried over her as she bent over that bucket, cleaning it out. "Stop, please? Call someone else to do that."

America relented, placing a hand on the small of her back and leaving the bucket to soak in the water it had already collected. "Feeling better?" she asked as she returned to his side.

"Yes. Dr. Ashlar said there might be some nausea with the concussion. I'm sorry, though, that was repulsive." he shuddered at his own behavior.

America chuckled and crawled back into bed with him, handing him a small glass of cool water to sip. "Don't you remember my first trimester? How sick I was until I was given those pills?" she laughed and he smiled, "I remember the very first time I had 'morning sickness'. We were out in the gardens on a picnic, and I was vomiting into the flowers."

Maxon laughed, "I was so confused! I tried patting your shoulder, telling you everything would be fine."

America laughed, too, "And you looked just like a lost little puppy when I snapped at you between heaves to stop pawing at me."

Maxon turned his loving gaze from America's eyes to her stomach. "Thank you… whatever you did to stop the contractions… thank you. What if I'd woken up and you had given birth while I was unconscious? What if I'd missed the birth of my baby, my heir?"

America wasn't surprised at the tears in her eyes as she leaned her cheek on his shoulder. She'd been having the same thoughts for hours, but hearing Maxon speak them aloud, the answer became so simple.

"You'd have fallen madly in love on opening your eyes and finding your baby lying in a crib next to your hospital bed. We'd have moved my bed in here, too, and recovered as a family. Mom, James, Kenna, May, and Gerad would have taken turns holding my hand and cheering me on during contractions… they'd have been spectacular at it. Everything would have been fine. Astra would have come back from her sleepover to find her baby cousin, alive and healthy, and only a few weeks early. She'd have been over the moon about it. They might have had to move a bed in here for her, too."

"She'd have shared mine." Maxon grinned.

"It would have been _fine_. But, Dr. Ashlar, Nurse Catharine, and Officer Weaver helped me breathe through my panic attack and got my heart rate under control, so the contractions stopped and the baby is safe and sound, growing healthy and strong." she placed his hand on her stomach. "Its heartbeat is a little fast, but Dr. Ashlar isn't worried. As long as I get plenty of rest, everything should go back to normal in a few days."

Maxon returned his eyes to hers and then tilted her chin his direction to allow perfect access to her lips.

It was like coming home, that kiss. Warm, safe, full of love; it was _home_.

America took a long breath afterward, allowing herself to bask in her husband's presence. He was weak, and he had a recovery ahead of him, but they were together again. That was all that mattered in the world.

"NO, DADDY, I WANT MACKIN!" They heard a scream from out in the hallway, and other voices chastising Astra to stay quiet.

America laughed, "She's been so worried, Maxon."

Maxon looked horrified as it suddenly occurred to him that Astra had heard about his injuries. "God. Is she alright?"

"Fine. Perfectly safe and healthy… she basically tore all of our hearts to tiny shreds with her cries when she found out that you were hurt, but she's spent every minute since then making feel-better presents for you."

"I want to see her."

"Are you sure you're up for it?"

"Yeah. How do I look? Will I scare her?"

America ran her hands through her husband's hair a couple of times, mussing it up the way he liked. "You're the handsomest king in the world." America struggled up and hurried over to the hallway.

Astra was on the verge of a tantrum, as James patiently explained why America and Maxon needed some time alone.

"Sorry, Ames." Kenna said. "We're working on it."

"No, Maxon really wants to see her. He's feeling up for a visit."

Kenna nodded, and rested a hand on James' shoulder. "Aunt Ames says that Maxon is all ready now, and thank you for being patient."

"Mackin is all ready?" Astra asked America.

"Yes." America smiled.

Astra ran over and leapt at America, as she had done with Kenna earlier, forcing America to lift her up and hold her or be knocked over.

"Astra, baby, no." James said, "Aunt Ames can't carry you right now. Come here, I'll carry you in—"

"No, Daddy, this is my Aunt Ames!" Astra explained.

"She and the baby need rest, Astra." Kenna tried.

America nodded and kissed Astra's cheek, "Why don't you walk in to see Maxon? You know you'll just try to jump out of my arms and fly to his bed the second I open that door."

Astra giggled. She knew it was true.

America lowered Astra to the floor with some difficulty and then took her hand, "Be extra gentle with Uncle Maxon, okay? He's got some cuts and bruises that are not fun."

"I promise." Astra sobered up immediately. She'd forgotten that, on waking, all of his injuries hadn't been magically healed.

"What are you going to give him first? Drawings or brownies?"

"Brownies." Astra decided, and held her hands up. Kenna handed her the box of brownies, and handed America the drawings. She, herself, carried the vase of flowers and the camera full of adorable pictures.

"Alright, here we go." America said, twisting the doorknob and pushing it open, slowly. Astra bolted into the room.

"Mackin!" she whispered loudly, her version of 'being gentle'.

"Hi, Pumpkin head!" Maxon smiled as she ran around the side of the bed. She tossed the box up onto the bed ahead of her, and then climbed like the monkey she was until she made it up.

"Okay, Mackin?"

"Yeah, I'm okay."

"You got hurt." This wasn't a question, she could see the bandages and a few stitches on his exposed arms. She very carefully traced a shallow cut on his cheekbone.

"Yes, I did. But I'm going to be just fine."

"Did you cry?"

"No, but it's okay to cry when you get hurt." Maxon explained. "I didn't because I fell asleep before the tears came."

"You want to cry now?" she offered, sympathetically.

"Not now! I'm much too happy to see all of you." Maxon grinned.

"Okay." Astra nodded, accepting his words. "You got some shots?"

"Yeah, see?" Maxon showed her the IV in his wrist.

"Ouch!"

"It doesn't hurt, and it gives me good medicine to make me feel all better."

"Good." Astra nodded. Satisfied with the state of his condition, she moved on from her medical inquiry. "Here, I have a present for you." Astra handed him the box.

"For me?"

"Yes, Mommy and me and Aunt Ames made it."

"Okay." Maxon popped the lid open and smiled. "These look delicious!"

America met Maxon's eyes apologetically. He'd just thrown up, after all. He just shook his head, and his eyes told her that he was feeling better.

"We can share." Astra said, holding a brownie up.

"What a wonderful idea." Maxon took the brownie from her and split it in half, giving her the larger half. "Cheers, Pumpkin head." he touched his half to her half.

"Cheers, Mackin." she parroted solemnly, then took a big bite. "We made other presents, too." she smacked through her large bite.

Kenna came over and arranged the flowers, "From your special bench." Kenna winked.

America was now seated on Maxon's other side, having given James the task of sticking the drawings up on the walls with clear tape so that she could get off of her feet. She handed the storybook Astra had drawn to her niece, and received a brownie in thanks. "This is for nap time." Astra explained, holding the homemade book up so he could see the cover. "Do _not _read it until nap time."

"It's _beautiful_." Maxon's eyes were wide as he took the stack of papers, stapled together, as if he'd never seen anything so wonderful in his life. "You made me a _book_?"

"Yes, but do _not_ read it." Astra commanded. "It is for nap time."

"I promise." Maxon reassured her, bringing her in for a forehead kiss. "Thank you, Astra, I love it. I love all of these drawings."

His room was now an explosion of construction paper, stick figures, and scribbles, with a few 'We love you's thrown in the mix.

"We took a few pictures, too." America smiled. "When you get some time, you can look and see what we did this morning before you woke up from your sleep."

Maxon raised his eyebrows, "Yes, that sounds wonderful."

"Yes, we took pictures." Astra nodded, authoritatively. "You will like them."

"I'm sure I will."

"Oh, yes, I forgot!" Astra exclaimed, as Kenna handed her the last few items they'd gathered. A small jar of flower-scented lotion and a makeup brush. "This will make you feel better."

"It will?" Maxon asked, wrapping an arm around America as she laid back beside him.

"Yes, I will show you." Astra wrenched open the jar with a lot of effort and then dabbed some lotion onto Maxon's hands, the way she'd seen Kenna do many, many times. "It feels good?" Astra asked, as she rubbed the lotion into Maxon's hands, careful to avoid the IV.

"_So_ good." Maxon smiled between America and Astra, then around the room as Gerad, James, and Kenna pulled up chairs.

"Smells good, too." Astra promised, forcing one of his hands up to his nose.

"Mmmm." Maxon agreed.

Astra handed the jar and lid to America without explanation, but America presumed she was to close it up. She did so, and set it aside, as Astra picked up the large makeup brush.

"This will feel good, too."

"That?" Maxon asked, surprised.

"Yes. Mommy brushes it on my face sometimes, it feels good."

Maxon was admittedly unfamiliar with many traditionally feminine practices, but three years old seemed a bit young for makeup, to him. "Does she put makeup on your face?" Maxon asked, curiously. Like maybe he'd misunderstood, and all three-year-old girls wore makeup.

"No, just brushing. Feel." Astra gently tickled the soft ends of the brush over Maxon's cheeks.

"That _does _feel nice." he admitted, surprised. He always wore powder when he was on camera to keep his skin from shining in the bright studio lights, but he'd never stopped to admire the feel of the brushes.

"You have a beard." Astra giggled as she began lightly brushing his chin. She leant forward and brushed her cheek against the stubble, giggling as it tickled and scratched against her soft skin.

"I am a bit rough, aren't I?" Maxon smiled at her, popping a quick kiss to the cheek she had pressed to his. "Maybe you could put some shaving cream on me later, and Aunt Ames could help me shave?"

"Yeah!" Astra jumped a little on the bed, and was instantly reminded by her mother _and _father to be gentle.

America's stomach growled loudly, which was a surprise. She realized that she hadn't eaten a meal since the sun rose.

Maxon chuckled and pressed a kiss to America's hair. "I think we need to feed the baby first, though."

"That baby wants chicken nuggets." Astra announced.

Everyone laughed. "The baby does, or _you_ do?" Kenna clarified.

"That baby. And tater tots."

America's stomach growled in agreement. "Actually, that sounds delicious. And some cheesy broccoli, maybe?"

"Yumm!" Astra agreed. "And macaroni!"

Maxon laughed, "It seems both of my girls are hungry."

"And craving kid food, apparently." America smiled, sheepishly.

"That's alright, my love." Maxon reassured her. "It all sounds perfect. I say we order a whole trolley from the kitchen, along with apple juice and sparkling water, and have a feast."

"Yay!" Astra squirmed.

"Are you up to a feast right now?" America asked, worriedly.

"I am."

"Maybe you should rest, though—"

"After we eat, we'll all get good, long naps." Maxon reassured her.

"Then shavin… then shaveen…" Astra struggled with her words.

"Then shaving cream." Maxon assisted, and was rewarded with an enormous, toothy smile from his pumpkin head. "Have another brownie while we wait, America." Maxon ordered, handing her a chunk of delicious chocolate. "James, would you take our order to the nearest attendant maid?"

"Happy to." James stood and stretched.

"Feel free to add anything you or Kenna want."

"Extra tater tots!" Astra exclaimed.

America nodded, sincerely. "Yes. Extra tater tots."

James chuckled, "This _is _going to be a party."

America couldn't help but agree, looking around the room at everything they had to celebrate. K was dead, Maxon was alive, the baby was fine, and they were all together. For the first time in months, her life felt like happily ever after again. Happily ever after, and more.


	53. Chapter 53

Maxon stayed under close observation in the hospital wing for three more days. It was the longest he'd ever had to stay in that part of the Palace, but Dr. Ashlar was insistent and Maxon didn't want to take any chances. He had a baby on the way, after all, so he was more than happy to stay in his kid-drawing covered hospital room and recuperate.

America was supposed to be recuperating, too. Even though she didn't have as many physical marks to show, she'd been through quite an ordeal, too, and her body needed time to recover. Unfortunately, _someone_ had to run the country. She was resolved to do everything she could possibly do, to allow Maxon as much time as he needed to heal. She could be the King, Queen, and human incubator for the next prince or princess all at the same time, couldn't she?

But when Stavros arrived in the hospital wing on the second morning of Maxon's three day stay, and America was already fully-dressed and asking Maxon for advice to get her through a long day of meetings, a line was drawn for the good of the royal family.

"You, Gavril, or Aspen may come and speak to us at breakfast, lunch, or dinner. Otherwise, America and I are unavailable." Maxon said to Stavros.

"Maxon, it's alright—" America tried to argue.

"It's not alright." Maxon disagreed, vehemently. "It's better that we both take a few days now and heal properly than deal with the damage that returning to work too soon could do to either us, for years."

Stavros nodded, "You're absolutely right, your Majesty."

"So, we'll see you at 9, noon, or 6. Have a pleasant day." Maxon dismissed.

"Wait!" America was confused. She couldn't believe Maxon was really getting away with this. "Stavros, you can't run the country by yourself like that. You need one of us." Otherwise, why wouldn't she and Maxon spend _every_ day on vacation, only giving advice over meals?

"We certainly do need _both _of you, your Majesty." Stavros gave a slight bow. "But we can push anything that's not an emergency to the beginning of next week. We'll scrape by until then, but just barely."

"Thank you, Stavros." Maxon smiled, pleased with himself.

"I at least want Silvia on the list of approved mealtime companions." America complained. "If you get your adviser, I get mine."

Stavros and Maxon shared an amused smile at her pouting. "Of course, your Majesty." Stavros bowed and left the room.

"I can't believe you did that." America frowned, but leant back into Maxon's opened arms when he offered them to her. They snuggled into his hospital bed, both trying to find a comfortable position for America so that she could get some rest.

"I learned it from you, my love." Maxon said, humored.

"What does that mean?"

"Have you already forgotten the days that you stole from me, commandeering me from my duties as King so that we could spend some time conceiving a royal heir?"

America's cheeks flushed pink as a few images came to her mind from those days nearly nine months earlier. "Well, I wouldn't have bothered if I'd known that I was already ever-so-slightly pregnant." she rubbed her stomach for emphasis.

"I'm glad you bothered, it was wonderful. Magnificent. A second honeymoon, really." he grinned. "And I'm glad I get to return the favor now, even if neither of us are well enough to spend this time unclothed."

America considered his words, sinking into the reality of her newly cleared schedule. "We really get to spend the whole day together?" she grinned.

"Every second of it." Maxon smiled back.

It was true, too. America and Maxon spent every minute of his recovery together, and she cradled his head when the concussion-related headaches came, and he massaged her aching back (always careful to avoid her bruised shoulder) almost anytime he was in reach of it. He whispered secrets to the baby if he was bored while America was trying to nap, and Astra paid them several visits per day, usually with cookies or other desserts to share, and almost more importantly than their physical recovery, America and Maxon allowed themselves to be happy and to feel safe. Their weary souls were healing, right alongside their battered bodies.

The bubble on contentedness burst on Maxon's first day out of the hospital wing. Though he was on a restricted schedule, some things could not be put off any longer.

One of those difficult, painful things was the funeral service for Officer Avery. Maxon personally oversaw the arrangements, making sure that Avery received every possible honor for his sendoff, and that his wife and young son, no older than Astra, would be taken care of for the rest of their lives.

Unexpectedly, for America, the hardest part of arranging Avery's memorial service was Astra's reaction.

The entire Royal family was going to be in the front row, opposite Avery's wife and child, therefore Astra was owed an explanation that she could understand as to what was going on. James and Kenna, along with Maxon and America, explained to her that Officer Avery died protecting Maxon, and therefore he wouldn't be back, like Uncle Kota (who she still called 'Koba') and Grandpa Shalom, and Maxon's Mommy. The trouble was, she'd never really _known_ Amberly or Shalom or Kota. She didn't really understand.

And she knew the name 'Officer Avery', and she knew the faces of all of Maxon and America's personal guard, but she didn't really understand which individual guard the memorial was for until she was walking past the remaining guards, in full dress uniform, with black ribbons tied around their arms as a show of mourning for their fallen comrade. Then she realized which face was missing, and which guard the little boy sitting across the aisle from her most resembled, and she grew very still and quiet. She didn't fidget or open her mouth to whisper for the entire memorial. She listened to the priest, and then to Maxon's words solemnly, making sense of what was being said wherever she could.

After the ceremony, Astra walked up to Avery's son, Dean, and tentatively, for once unsure of herself, asked, "We have a treehouse, want to play?"

Dean looked up at his grief-stricken mother who smiled weakly, in surprise. "Of course." She said. "Which grown up are you taking with you?"

"I'll go." Kenna smiled and introduced herself, and Marlee joined with Kile on her hip. America noticed that when Marlee introduced herself, she didn't use her own name. She said that she was 'Officer Woodwork's wife' and America wondered if all Illéan military spouses introduced themselves to each other that way. She'd have to ask Marlee later.

As Kenna led the procession of small people out to the gardens, making sure they were all bundled up appropriately against the December chill, Avery's wife let out a tiny breath of air.

"He hasn't played outside at all, since his father died." she remarked, awed. "That was his favorite thing to do with his dad... I can't believe he just agreed to go with them."

"He's welcome anytime." America said, unable to think of anything else. This woman's husband traded his life for Maxon's. Her child's father was gone, so that America's child's father could be here.

Maxon nodded, wrapping an arm around America's lower back, "You and your son are always welcome at the Palace, for meals or walks through the gardens. Treat this place like your home, use the library, the pools, all of it. I owe everything to your husband, and that will never be forgotten."

Avery's wife nodded numbly, her expression blank. The offer probably wasn't sinking in yet. Nothing was sinking in yet. In a week, they'd write to her, asking if she needed anything and inviting her to the winter ball as personal guests of the King. After that, they would keep finding excuses to check on her until it seemed like she was beginning to adjust. She might not want Palace interference after that, but until it was clear that she was alright, for her sake and her son's, Maxon and America would be paying close attention.

Maxon was out of the Palace the following day, overseeing a ceremony wherein the fallen body of Agent Sheffield, who was also killed by shrapnel in K's explosion, was to be returned to England. She was shown every honor as her coffin was loaded into a special plane that would be returning all of the English agents to their king and country. America would have attended this ceremony, too, but Dr. Ashlar ruled that it would be too much time on her feet, and he didn't want her out in the cold for so long.

Maxon had a long, long phone call with King Eoan in which he explained his wife's absence from the photographs that would be taken, as well as expressed his eternal gratitude for King Eoan's help in ending the rebel threat. King Eoan invited the entire royal family to visit as soon as the baby was strong enough to fly, and Maxon promised to make a visit sometime in the summer, when work slowed down.

America had only been to England once before, and only for a brief few days, but it was a wonderful place and she was already looking forward to shopping with May and taking Astra and the baby out to the countryside for a few days. The very idea of England was like a balm, after the year they'd had. All America wanted now was to enact the amendment, have a smooth and healthy labor, and cuddle up with her baby, her husband, and the rest of her family before jet setting to some place far away and beautiful. England fit the bill magnificently. In her mind, America was already packing.

* * *

America awoke on the morning of December 4th with a smile on her face. Maxon was hovering right over her, his nose just an inch above her own.

"What?" she demanded, happily. He was having a good morning. His shallower wounds were beginning to heal, but the deeper ones that were stitched had been causing him pain, and the bruise on his chest where that little red camera saved his life was beginning to turn a rainbow of horrifying, zombie-like colors. So it was wonderful that, this morning, Maxon was clearly feeling good.

"You are so beautiful. Sometimes I can't even believe it." he replied, then lowered his lips to hers.

America's hand found its way to the back of his neck, "Mmm. This is quite the 'good morning'."

"We're getting our final poll numbers this afternoon." Maxon explained as he lowered himself onto his side and began tracing shapes onto America's enormous belly. She was wearing a silk top that felt heavenly on her stretched skin, even better when Maxon gently massaged the fabric into that skin with his fingers like that. "There's nothing else we can do for the amendment. It either will be, or it won't be, but there's no sense worrying about it."

America smiled, stretching her limbs out and sighing, "You're right. There's nothing more that we can do. We should just make it our business to thoroughly enjoy today."

"Oh, I intend to." Maxon grinned, skirting his hand a little higher along the crest of her bump so that his hand skimmed her breast.

"Stop it!" America poked him in the ribs, and he let out an entirely unsexy snort. "Don't even think about it."

Maxon pouted and pressed his warm lips innocently to the hollow behind her ear. "Why not?"

"Because! Dr. Ashlar said that sex right now, eleven days before my due date, could induce labor. I am _not _having this baby today, I have other plans." America insisted, trying to ignore the pressure of his mouth on her skin, and working hard to keep her voice stern.

America's occasional pre-labor contractions were back, but she hadn't had any more gut-shattering pains like during her panic attack. The baby seemed like it was content to stay put for a little longer, hopefully until its due date, but Dr. Ashlar didn't want America to take any risks. America was inclined to agree, particularly when it came to the amendment. She _might _have been more lenient with Maxon if the amendment was already enacted, but she certainly wasn't going to ruin everything by letting him induce her labor exactly _one _week before the formal legislative session.

Maxon finally gave up, sighing through his nose with his lips still pressed to her skin, then he pushed himself up so that he was sitting on his legs. "You're right." he relented.

"I know." America eyed him sympathetically. "I wish I wasn't, but I am."

"It's just as well." Maxon admitted. "I have something I want to do before breakfast."

"What is it?"

"I got something special for Kenna, for today."

"You did?" America asked, amazed and touched at her adorable, loving husband's behavior.

"Of course! She suffered and labored for _eighteen hours_ in order to bring the most amazing, wonderful creature into this world, four years ago today. I think she deserves a little something to mark the occasion."

America marveled at him until his cheeks turned pink, making him look like the boy version of himself, surrounded by blankets, sitting on his knees, wearing pajamas that were slightly too big for him. "What?" Maxon finally asked.

"Nothing." America swallowed. "You're just amazing, that's all. Your mother did a really good job raising you. You're amazing, Maxon. Let's go see Kenna."

Rather than call Mary, Maxon volunteered to attend to America. He wasn't as helpful as he wished he could be, it turned out that Maxon wouldn't make a very good maid, but he what he lacked in skill he made up for in enthusiasm.

He asked her what she wanted to wear and he fetched what she requested from the closet (it took him three times as long as it would have taken Mary to find a comfortable pair of velour blended maternity jeans and a v-neck cream blouse of similarly soft, flowing fabric), and he had to try twice before coming up with an event-appropriate necklace for her. She had to explain to him that, no, the heavily jeweled rope necklace she'd worn to the anniversary ball commemorating his first official year as King was not, in fact, acceptable to wear to a four-year-old's birthday party. She then asked him to look for something a little longer, and slightly less weighed down by hundreds of thousands of dollars worth of jewels. He agreed, but argued that he wouldn't find anything as dazzling.

Maxon was also hilariously serious when he tried to help her apply her makeup, the way that Mary always did. She didn't give him any important jobs (brushing sheer powder on her face, blending her eyeshadow colors together, lightly glossing her lips), but he applied himself to each task as if it were the most important thing he'd ever done. He bent before her with eyes narrowed, lips pressed in concentration, and studied each task unblinkingly. America couldn't help but giggle at him, which was one of his favorite sounds in the world and triggered a large smile on his face.

When they finally made it to Kenna and James' room down the hall, the door was open and three lumps could easily be spotted in the bed. Astra had apparently been their first visitor of the morning, and she hadn't closed the door behind her.

"Are we interrupting?" America asked, when Kenna's eyes flitted up to them in the doorway.

"No, we've just about decided that we're ready for breakfast." Kenna smiled lazily.

Astra was snuggled between her parents, reclined back so that they weren't quite sitting and weren't quite laying down.

"It looks like you're having some quiet family time before the excitement of the day." Maxon smiled at them, clearly seeing his own future on their happy faces. "We can come back—"

"No, it's fine." Kenna waved them over.

"Happy birthday, Astra." America smiled.

"Happy birthday, Pumpkin head." Maxon echoed.

Astra burst into the widest grin, "Thank you, I am four."

"I still can't believe it." James shook his head. "I swear the midwife put you in my arms as a little, tiny baby, just yesterday."

"No, Daddy." Astra giggled. "Yesterday we went swimmin'."

"So we did." James relented.

"Hey, Mackin?" Astra asked, eyeing the hands Maxon held behind his back. "What do you have?"

"Ah. You learned after I hid that crown behind my back at Halloween, didn't you?"

"Yes!"

"I have some flowers," Maxon said, removing the beautiful pink daphnes from behind his back, "And I also have a present." he said, bringing his other hand around.

Now Astra tried to be very coy, "Do you think that present is for me?"

"For you? Should you get presents today?" Maxon winked at her and she laughed.

"Yes! Mommy and Daddy already gave me this pony." Astra lifted a doll-sized toy pony in her hand. It had long mane and tail hair, and a beautiful cream-colored body.

"That looks like a fun pony." America said, gently lowering herself onto the foot of the bed.

"Yes, it can do this!" Astra threw the pony up into the air and let if fall on the far side of the bed.

"A talented thoroughbred, to be sure." Maxon chuckled. "Aunt Ames and I do have some presents for you, Astra, but you won't be getting those until your party this afternoon."

Astra nodded, but continued to eye the box in his hand. "What's that?"

"This is a present for your mommy."

Kenna's mouth dropped open in surprise, "Maxon, you didn't have to do that!"

"I wanted to." Maxon assured her, handing the flowers to her with a flourish.

"It's not Mommy's birthday." Astra pointed out, "It's my birthday."

"Ah, but Astra." Maxon said, joining America at the foot of the bed, "Your Mommy is the reason that today is your birthday. When you were in her tummy, she kept you safe and warm and gave you lots of good food to eat so that you could grow big and strong, and finally, on this exact day four years ago, you were strong enough to come out and see us. It's all thanks to her. And it's very hard work, your Aunt Ames has shown me how hard it can be."

"It was hard work, Mommy?" Astra verified Maxon's story.

"The hardest work." Kenna confirmed. "But you are so worth it, baby girl."

Astra made a face. "I am four, not a baby girl."

"Do you want us to call you 'Four girl' instead?" James grinned.

"Yes."

"Hmmm…" he considered it. "Nah, you're my baby. You'll always be my baby. Even when you're a thousand years old, you'll be my baby."

"Even when I'm a millan?"

"Always." James promised, kissing her on the forehead.

"Smell these, Astra, don't they smell wonderful?" Kenna grinned.

Astra took a long whiff and made a delighted _mmm _sound, "Those are good flowers!" Astra approved, as Kenna plucked one bloom out and set it behind Astra's ear before setting the rest of them aside.

"Thank you, Maxon." Kenna said, as Maxon handed her the small, wrapped box in his hands. "Really. You're spoiling us."

"What use is being King if I can't spoil the women I love?" Maxon beamed around the room. "Anyway, it's just a small gesture. Something simple, to say that I'm eternally grateful that you brought Astra into the world. This family would be very different if you hadn't."

Kenna smiled from ear to ear as she unwrapped the little box in her hands. The golden wrapping fell away and she lifted the lid on the tiny box to reveal two perfect, cream colored pearl earrings. "Oh, Maxon…"

"I hope you like them. I know you and America have similar taste in jewelry so I tried to pick out something she would like." Maxon looked back to America, who smiled her approval at him. They were a perfect choice. Elegant but unassuming, and beautiful. Just like Kenna.

Kenna mouthed the words 'real pearls', before taking them out of their velvety case and slipping them on her ears.

"Mommy, those are beautiful." Astra said, putting her face far closer to Kenna's ear than necessary, in order to look the earrings over.

"Yes, they are." Kenna agreed. "I love them, Maxon, thank you."

"You're very welcome." Maxon smiled and stood. "Now then, America and I are headed to breakfast. The chef knows that it's a certain Four girl's birthday today, and I think he's got some surprises planned. Astra, do you know what crepes are?"

"Grapes?" Astra asked.

"No, _crepes_. Tiny pancakes full of jelly or whipped cream or all kinds of delicious, sugary treats. I'm fairly certain that we'll be having some at your birthday breakfast, as well as chocolate chip waffles."

Astra squirmed excitedly, but her parents restrained her from leaping out of bed and dashing to the dining room at once.

"Take your time up here." America said, using Maxon as leverage to help her stand. "There's no hurry. And after breakfast, Mary and Paige have mentioned to me that they want to get you and Astra ready for the party." she said to Kenna.

"Really?"

"They want to do all of the pampering things I usually stop them from doing. Massages and manicures, pedicures and facials… they want to give you guys the works while we set up the party downstairs." America grinned.

"What's it?" Astra asked Kenna, interestedly.

"We're going to get massages."

"Yeah." Astra nodded, she'd understood that part.

"And fingernail paint."

"Oh, really?!" Astra squealed.

"Yes, special birthday fingernail and toenail paint, and lots of other fun, comforting things to get us all ready for the party."

"I _love _my birthday." Astra sighed, collapsing back against her father, happily.

* * *

At Maxon's insistence, America joined Kenna and Astra for manicures and pedicures. It was a good excuse to keep America off of her feet, and while she was up there being pampered, lots of the heavy lifting would be taken care of.

Astra and Kenna got their nails done first while America's hands and feet soaked in warm, soothing water. They chattered away happily with Mary and Paige, and America mostly relaxed and listened until she felt a peculiar sensation in her stomach, realized what it was, and started giggling.

"What is it, Ames?" Kenna asked, looking over Astra's head to America's chair.

"The baby has the hiccoughs."

"Aw, that's adorable!" Kenna cooed.

"Why?" Astra asked, worried. "It okay?"

"Yeah, the baby's okay." America promised. "Babies get hiccoughs just like you or me."

"It helps the baby's lungs get ready to breathe." Kenna explained.

"That baby's not breathing?" Astra asked, terrified.

"Babies don't need to breathe until after they're born." America hurried to explain.

"Yeah, their mommies give them plenty of oxygen, straight to their little bodies. That way their lungs have time to rest and get strong before they have to go to work."

"Oh." Astra relaxed in her chair, eyes returning to Mary as she knelt before Astra's chair, carefully clipping and filing her little fingernails.

"I think this means the baby is going to be ready to come out, soon." Kenna said, grinning conspiratorially at her daughter.

"Maybe today?" Astra asked, hopefully. "Today can be that baby's birthday, too, and we can be four?"

America melted at Astra's eager little expression. She wondered what it was like to live in such a big, confusing world, where babies lived in tummies and birthdays only happened once a year, for some weird reason.

"It takes time to turn four." Kenna explained. "Four whole years."

"That baby will be four like me in four years?" Astra asked, disappointed.

"Yes."

"Then we can be four?"

"No, baby, you'll be older by then."

"_Five_?" Astra asked, amazed at the thought of being so old.

"You and the baby won't be four at the same time." Kenna ignored the difficult mathematics involved and got to the heart of the matter to avoid confusing her daughter even more. "But you can still be best friends."

"And Kile?"

"Of course."

"Okay, that sounds good." she agreed.

Astra was absolutely adorable when Mary started painting her little fingernails and toenails pale pink to match her special party dress. And again, when Mary went through and added a design of flowers made out of sparkles. "Diamonds!" Astra squealed, when she saw what Mary was doing. "I can't believe it! I have _diamonds_, Mommy!"

"They're beautiful, baby girl."

America actually cried, just a teardrop or two, watching Astra get her 'diamonds'. That girl was so in awe, and so appreciative, and so in love with _everything_. Just being in the same room with her was an instant boost to America's mood.

"Aunt Ames, you sad?" Astra asked, noticing America wipe her cheeks quickly.

"No! Not at all. I'm so happy that I got overwhelmed."

"Really?" Astra asked, skeptically.

"Yeah, the baby has cute little hiccoughs and you have beautiful diamonds on your fingernail paint, and I love you so much. I'm _so_ happy."

* * *

America left Kenna and Astra to finish getting their massages, and their hair and makeup done, and she joined the effort to finish decorating the Women's Room for Astra's party.

If it had been springtime, or a nicer day, they'd have hosted the party outside. If the Great Room wasn't gutted and in the earliest stages of being rebuilt, they'd have hosted the party there, but the Women's Room made a nice alternative to both. It was a soft, cushy space with plenty of seating and lots of room. It already trended traditionally feminine in its décor, so it didn't take much to turn it into a four-year-old girl's dream of a birthday party.

Balloons and flowers in a sunset of colors filled every available space along the walls, and banners were already hanging high with Astra's name on them and glittering outlines of cartoon tiaras. Maxon and May were going through and threading beautiful, shining silk ribbons along the backs of the chairs and couches while James and Gerad covered tables in creamy, lace tablecloths. Magda was busily arranging the dessert table, the centerpiece of which was an enormous, multitiered pink cake, surrounded by small cupcakes in dazzling wrappers adorned with glitter. To either side of the desserts, a small tower of presents stacked appealingly.

"Hello, Beautiful!" Maxon spotted her and grinned. "What do you think?"

"It's perfect. She's going to love it."

Magda spied America and said, "There's some tiara-shaped confetti in a plastic bag over by the door. All of the surfaces in the room need a healthy smattering, if you want to lend a hand."

Maxon came over and kissed America briefly. "How are Kenna and Astra?"

"Very relaxed. We probably have another forty-five minutes."

"Perfect." Maxon grinned.

"Have you figured out what you're going to say to Astra when she opens her present?" America asked, with a smile. Technically, the titles for the royal family would not be rolled out until New Years, and the titles for the rest of the aristocracy would take effect over the coming year, but Astra was going to get hers early. There was just no sense waiting any longer, not when it would make her so happy.

"Yes, I think so." Maxon said, pleased, and followed America over to the confetti so that they could keep talking. "And Gerad has volunteered to take pictures of the moment."

"That'll be wonderful."

"Do you know what's nice? I was just thinking." Maxon said, following at America's side as she began distributing healthy sprinklings of tiny, shiny tiara-shaped confetti around the room.

"What is?" America asked.

"We don't have to film a _Report_ special for this party. I mean, I'm sure it would look great, and the people would love it, and it would probably improve our poll numbers… but who cares? We can take a break from all of that and just be with our family today. And it won't change the outcome of the amendment, either way."

"It feels good, doesn't it?" America agreed.

Maxon nodded, and then grabbed his own handful of confetti, sprinkling a trail of it along a shelf. "How's the baby?" he asked.

"It had the hiccoughs earlier!" America grinned.

"Really?" Maxon asked, looking back at her.

"Yes. It was the cutest thing. My belly kept twitching and the baby would give a little jolt. I thought it was some kind of weird ghost contraction, but then I recognized the pattern."

Maxon ran a hand through his hair, joy all over his face. "Eleven days until your due date. I really can't wait."

"You need to wait at least seven."

Maxon nodded, then asked, "If we don't get a 75% approval rating, and so it's not safe to enact the amendment as it is, then will you have the baby before the legislative session?"

"Maxon!"

"Just curious."

"The baby will come when it's ready to come, and that might not even be until January." America said. She knew it was possible, but didn't think it was likely. The baby felt ready, to her, and so did her body. She'd been having plenty of pre-contractions, and the baby was shifting lower against her pelvis. She could feel the difference in where its little head was resting. Add to that the hiccoughs strengthening its little lungs, and America felt pretty sure that both she and this baby were physically ready. It was no longer a matter of development or growth, now it was only a matter of time before her labor was triggered and the baby was born.

Maxon pouted at the thought of waiting until January for his little baby sidekick, but he consoled himself by sneaking a chocolate chip cookie from the dessert table and then helping May string up some pink pennant banners with Astra's name spelled across the five middle triangles. Astra couldn't read, yet, so her parents would have to tell her that everything said 'Happy Birthday'. However, she could identify her name, and would be thrilled to see it all over the place.

Marlee, Carter, and Kile arrived to help finish setting things up; and shortly thereafter, Aspen, Lucy, and Meri arrived. Knowing how much Astra loved dancing, Maxon made sure there was music playing and a good space to dance. Those were the finishing touches.

Paige appeared to warn the room that Astra and Kenna were getting ready to come down, and Maxon got his fancy camera ready, making adjustments and preparing the settings. He was going to capture every moment of this extravaganza.

The look on Astra's face when she walked into the room was spellbinding. Her little eyes grew round, as they looked up and then around, her mouth wide open though the corners were tugging up into a huge smile. She wore her pale pink dress, with a large bow on the side, white tights with pale pink polka dots and white dress shoes. Her hair was swept into an elegant side bun, errant curls framing her face. She looked like a fairytale princess, she had the kind heart and soul of a fairytale princess, and very soon she would have the official title. It was hard for America to remember a happier occasion, even her own wedding, which was also in many ways a fairytale event. After all, it turned her into a queen.

Astra clutched her mother's hand tightly, and kept asking if Kenna saw what she saw.

"Mommy, do you see the balloons?"

"I see them, aren't they great?"

"Yeah! Mommy, do you see the cake?"

"It's so big! I can't believe the chefs made you such a beautiful cake."

"It's so pretty!"

"Yes, and it looks yummy."

"Do you see presents, Mommy?"

"I see them, there are so many."

"Yes! Mommy, do you see Kile?"

"Did you know Kile was going to be here?"

"No!"

"What a nice surprise, huh, little girl?" Kenna giggled.

"Mommy! My name!" Astra pointed to the pennant banners.

But the accent that really did her in, the decorative touch that pushed her over the edge, was the confetti that America had strewn throughout the room.

"Mommy! Mommy! Glitter! Do you— it's a glitter of crowns— there's crown glitter, Mommy!" Astra grabbed a fistful off of an end table. "Look! It's— It's—" Astra threw it in the air and watched it sparkle as it rained down on her.

"I see it, Astra." Kenna promised her. "It's fabulous."

"There's so much of it! There's more and more—" Astra spotted the confetti trailed throughout the room and began sniffling. "It's _crowns_, Mommy."

"I know, baby."

Fat teardrops spilled from Astra's eyes and she wiped them away with her adorable little hands, fingernails still shining with her 'diamonds'.

"Honey, are you okay?" Kenna asked, kneeling down next to her.

"Yeah." Astra cried, more tears falling out. "I l-love it." Astra looked around the room until she spotted America, her little expression begging for help.

"You're so happy, right Astra?" America said. "Like I was earlier? You're so happy that you can't keep it all inside, so some of it comes out in happy tears?"

"Yeah! Like that!"

"You love your party, huh?"

"I love it!"

"Good! Let's dance and celebrate." America smiled.

"Okay." Astra agreed, but she kept hold of her fists-full of confetti.

James scooped Astra up into a huge hug and then danced her around the room, first on his hip, and then letting her balance her feet atop his own.

Afterward, Astra was going to play a little with Kile but she caught Maxon cuddling his goddaughter, pressing kisses to her golden hair, and she had to intervene.

"Mackin, it is not that baby's birthday!"

"No, it's _your_ birthday." Maxon agreed.

"You have to hold me instead." Astra insisted, lifting her arms to him.

"I'm not allowed to hold baby Meri? Even though I love her?"

"No! You love me!"

"I love both of you very much." Maxon insisted. "But…" he prompted her.

"But I'm your only Pumpkin head." Astra recited.

"That's right."

"Mackin, please, do not hold that baby anymore."

"Don't be jealous of baby Meri." Maxon said, sweetly. "Watch." He sat on a nearby sofa and held out an arm to her. "Now there's room for both of you on my lap."

Astra humphed as she climbed up, studying the baby's face carefully.

"You know, soon Aunt Ames is going to have our baby." Maxon said. "I'm going to hold that baby a _lot_."

"Really?" Astra asked, frowning.

"Really. I'm going to hold that baby every day, lots of times. But you know what?"

"What?"

"I'll still love you very much."

"A squillion?" Astra giggled.

"A squillion and five." He reminded her. "I can hold lots of babies, and still have plenty of time to dance with you."

"Show me." Astra negotiated, and Maxon laughed.

"Alright, fine." He pressed one more kiss to Meri's forehead and then passed her on to Mary, who eagerly accepted her. "Come here, you jealous little Pumpkin." Maxon swept Astra into his arms so quickly, she laughed in surprise as she whooshed up into his arms. He spun with her all around the room, tilting her gently to the side for a 'dip', and then bringing her back up again.

Finally, when the song was over, Maxon collapsed back on the couch and Mary offered to return Meri to him. He accepted and said, "See, Astra? I can hold babies and still love you."

"Yeah." Astra admitted. "Okay, you can hold that baby."

"Do you like her?" Maxon asked. "She's very nice."

"Yes, I like her."

"She's your friend."

"I know that." Astra nodded.

"When she learns how to walk, we'll play with her in the tree castle." Maxon schemed.

"Oh, yes, that will be fun!" Astra agreed. "We can play pirate ship!"

"She'd be a great pirate, wouldn't she?" Maxon agreed, gazing into Meri's blinking, curious green eyes.

And just like that, Astra's jealous moment passed. Maxon actually appreciated the practice, well aware that there would be an adjustment period for her once the baby was born. This just showed him again that Astra was fundamentally good and generous, and the jealousy would be a natural but completely manageable and temporary thing.

Then it was time for cake, candles, and a special birthday wish. Once everyone was done singing the birthday song, Astra let Kile stand next to her and help her blow out all four candles. She promised that he could make a wish, too. He thanked her profusely for his chance to wish for new marbles.

Astra ate her slice of cake in record time, making loud, satisfied _mmm_-ing sounds most of the time. She was anxious to get to her presents, but agreed that everyone should be allowed to finish their cake before the festivities moved on. She didn't rush anyone, exactly, but she definitely cheered them on. "Come on, Aspen, you can do it!" "Almost there, Daddy!" "Go Gramma! You can eat!"

_Finally _Astra settled down in a tall chair that they were calling the 'throne', her legs not even close to touching the floor, and she squirmed excitedly as gift after gift was placed in her lap by Kenna. Maxon and America had two boxes with the rest. One of them contained a bulky, pink, nearly impossible-to-break kid-proof plastic camera. Maxon was very interested to see what sorts of things Astra would take pictures of, and looked forward to teaching her how to make prints and decorate using the pictures she would take. The other box, of course, had Astra's princess starter kit inside. Kenna knew to save that box for last.

"Wow." James said, watching as Astra enthusiastically examined her new camera, holding it up next to Maxon's extravagant camera to see the similarities (mostly, that they both had buttons to push). "That's a great gift."

"It was Maxon's idea." America laughed. "I'm glad she likes it, though."

"He's going to spoil her." James grinned. He wasn't dismayed by that at all, he wanted lots of spoiling for his daughter.

"I know. I mean, I stopped him from buying her an actual pony this time, but I don't know if I'll be in any condition to stop him come Christmas. I'll have my hands full with the baby."

"Really?" James asked, studying her face. "He was really going to buy her a _pony_. Like the real version of the toy we gave her this morning?"

"Yeah." America shook her head. "He really was. And I have the feeling that someday, he really will."

"How'd you stop him?"

"I said that he's not allowed to give her animals until she's old enough to help take care of them. We need to teach her responsibility and consideration."

James nodded, "You're right. That's great parenting, Ames."

America smiled, resting a hand on her stomach. "Thanks."

"So, what do you think that bought us, two years?"

"Three at most." America sighed, as if forlorn. "Maybe he'll start small, give her a cat or something." James and America shared a grin, though. There was no denying that Astra would be adorable, bouncing along on horseback. That would probably happen someday, and it would be wonderful when it did.

Astra was grateful and humble and thrilled with every single one of her gifts, making sure to thank each person individually as she unwrapped their presents, without even having to be prompted by her mother. Finally, there was only one box left. _The _box.

"Okay." Maxon said, handing his camera off to Gerad, who moved into position. He found the perfect angle so that Maxon's and Astra's faces would be visible, and James and Kenna would be standing in the background of all of the pictures he shot. "Now, Astra, this is the last present. Are you excited?"

"Yes!"

"It's from Aunt Ames and me."

"Thank you!"

"You're welcome." Maxon grinned, kneeling down so that he could look her in the eye. The others in the room began shifting, excitedly. They all knew what was about to happen. "Can you guess what's inside?"

"A toy?"

"No, not a toy." Maxon shook his head.

"A… flower?" Astra suggested. She was clearly remembering the flowers her mother had been given that morning.

"No flowers." Maxon laughed.

"A crown?" The idea suddenly occurred to her, and it excited her greatly.

Maxon hummed. "A crown. Well, as a matter of fact, yes. There is a crown in there."

Astra squealed and clapped her hands, "Oh, thank you Mackin, I love crowns!"

"I know you do." Maxon grinned. "Aunt Ames and I talked a lot about it. See, that's not the only thing in your box."

"TWO crowns?" Astra froze, eyes wide as saucers.

"No." Maxon chuckled. "Aunt Ames and I had a long talk when we were deciding what to put in this box. We talked to your mommy and daddy, and lots of advisers and important people. Aunt Ames and I love you very much, and we didn't _just_ want to give you a crown… we wanted to make you a real princess."

Astra blinked, "What?" It was too much to comprehend.

"Open the box."

"Okay." she agreed, thinking it would make sense once she could see what was inside. She tore the paper off, let it fall to the ground, and the lifted the lid off of the large box, tossing it aside. At the very top, there was a sparkling piece of gold paper in a fancy frame, and Astra could see that her name was at the top in big letters. "Astra!" she said, pointing.

"That's right, that's you."

"What's it?" Astra asked, confused by her gift.

"It says, _King Maxon Schreave and Queen America Singer Schreave of Ill__é__a hereby command that ASTRA ORDERS is now an official Princess of Ill__é__a. She will have every privilege afforded to a Princess of Ill__é__a, and will now be referred to as PRINCESS ASTRA ORDERS, daughter of Duke James Orders and Duchess Kenna Singer Orders of Ill__é__a.__" _And at the bottom, the certificate was signed and dated by Maxon and America.

The paper itself didn't mean anything, it was just something for Astra to physically have, to make it feel like she was receiving this title on her birthday, rather than being assigned it arbitrarily.

"Do you understand, Astra?" Maxon asked, kindly. "You're a real princess now."

Astra looked from Maxon to her name on the certificate, then back to Maxon again. "I'm real?" she asked, amazed.

"You're really a princess." Maxon nodded, smiling.

"It's real?" Astra asked, tears flooding her eyes again. "Mackin, It's _real?_"

"You are a _real_ princess. You are Princess Astra Orders of Illéa, from this day on."

"I'M A PRINCESS FOR REAL?" Astra seemed to scream and sob at the same time, as if she was having a tantrum. But she wasn't having a tantrum, she was just happy.

"You are a princess for real." Maxon nodded, and she leaned over, throwing her arms around Maxon's neck. "That's your present." Maxon explained. "Happy birthday, Princess Astra."

Astra cried, sniffling loudly, "Thank you M-M-Mackin!"

"You're so welcome."

"Aunt Ames!" Astra cried, looking devastated. But she wasn't devastated, and America knew this because the next thing Astra exclaimed was, "I'm too happy again!" Maxon lifted the box out of her lap, and America came over and gently picked Astra up, just long enough to steal her seat and set her in the last remaining sliver of America's lap.

"I love you, Astra." America said. "Happy birthday, Princess."

"I l-l-l-love—" she couldn't even get all the words out.

America smiled, "I know, sweetheart. I know." she stroked Astra's hair soothingly.

Maxon handed his handkerchief to America who used it to help Astra blow her nose.

"There's other stuff in the box." America said. "Want Maxon to show us?"

"Yes, please." Astra needed the help. She curled up with America, clutching her tightly, utterly overwhelmed.

"Okay." Maxon grinned. "I asked Aunt Ames what a new Princess of Illéa would need. I've never been a princess before, but she has! She remembers all of the stuff she needed when she first came to the Palace to become a princess. So, here we have the very first thing. A new dress."

Maxon showed her the little blue dress, much like the ones America favored in the Selection. This one had puffy sleeves and a ribbon around the middle, Mary had modeled it after an illustration in a book of fairytales.

"Ms. Mary helped us with the dress, she made it just for you, just like she made my dresses when I was a princess." America explained.

Astra looked across the room for Mary, found her in the corner and waved. It was the closest to 'Thanks' she had left in her, in that moment. Mary waved back and blew a kiss. Astra pretended to catch it, and America giggled.

"Alright." Maxon said. "Next we have strawberry tarts. Aunt Ames says these are very important, to keep your energy up for being Princess. A very nice baker in Angeles made these for us and put them in this great little package. She invited us to her bakery after the baby is born for more treats." Maxon grinned and Astra grinned back, nodding. She had no more words, she was actually speechless, but treats always sounded like a good plan to her.

Maxon continued, "Alright, so here is the last thing. You guessed it earlier, Princess Pumpkin head. Every new princess needs a crown."

The thing Maxon had given her at Halloween had been fully round and made of rose metal. This was a tiara, and every bit of it was real. The gold was warm, almost glowing, the gems inside were dazzling, and beautifully matched to the pale pink of the rest of Astra's attire. "This," Maxon said, lifting it up so he could show her, "Is a very real princess crown. You get to wear it at special occasions like parties here at the Palace. Anytime Aunt Ames and I get to wear our crowns, you get to wear this very special, very real princess crown."

"….I can wear it now?" Astra whispered, amazed at the way it glittered and shone in his hands.

"Yes. This is a _very_ special occasion. This is the day you became a real, live princess." and with that, Maxon tugged Astra forward a little in America's lap so that he could crown her.

"I'm a princess for real?" Astra asked again, still amazed.

"Yes. You are a princess for real, and everybody knows it." Maxon grinned.

Astra cried a little more, but not the wailing sobs of before.

"Astra?" Kile was hugging Carter's good leg, nervously. He'd tried to be good and stay quiet, but he couldn't take it anymore "You okay?"

Astra grinned, wiping her cheeks, "Yeah, I'm a princess, Kile!"

Kile didn't really know or care what that meant. "Why you crying?"

"I'm too happy!" Astra giggled and sniffed.

Kile scrunched his nose up at this. He tried to think about what would fix it. "Want juice?" Kile offered.

"Oh… umm…. Okay." Astra nodded, wiggling out of America's lap, checking to make sure her new tiara was secure on her head, and then joining Kile. Marlee rushed over to serve them, making sure no juice spilled in the process.

Maxon sat back on the floor next to America and grinned up at her, "That was good, right?"

"That was good." America nodded. "She'll never forget that."

Maxon reached up and took America's hand, squeezing it.

The party continued, and now that the news was sinking in, Astra couldn't keep the smile off of her face. The adults sat around, talking and relaxing, passing the baby back and forth to anyone who wanted to cuddle her, while Kile and Astra played with the new toys and snacked on sugary treats.

It was a completely perfect, uncomplicated moment. It felt to America as if the rest of the world had fallen away, and this bubble of cake and princesses, happy children and happy families, was all that existed. The bubble burst with an anxious, sickening pop when America saw Stavros stick his head in the door. He caught her eyes, bowed his head, and then motioned for Maxon and her to come over.

It was like an adrenaline spike and a blood sugar crash all at once, as America realized what Stavros must want to talk to them about. The air slipped from her lungs and she could not seem to replace it no matter how quickly she gasped in and out.

"Ames." Maxon said, placing a hand on her cheek. "Look at me." She did. "Either way, the baby will be fine. If we don't have 75%, we'll figure something else out. We'll keep her safe and put her in line for this throne, one way or another."

"Okay." America whispered. "I'm going to throw up."

Maxon chuckled, "You're fine."

"I can't do this."

"Do you want me to go, and tell you what Stavros says later?"

"You can't leave me!"

"So we should ask Stavros to come to us another time?"

"No! We can't wait!"

Maxon puzzled over her trembling hands and then nodded, coming to a decision. He turned back to where Stavros waited and waved him inside.

Stavros took in the decorations with a quick sweep of his eyes.

"Tell us here, now." Maxon commanded. "We don't want it drawn out, and we're not hiding anything from our family or friends."

"Yes, sir." Stavros bowed again, with one quick glance to the others sitting near the King and Queen. "The polling results are in." America grasped Maxon's hand and squeezed tightly. This was it. Everything they'd done all year came down to this moment. It felt like her giant stomach was full of tangles of electric rope, not a baby.

Stavros continued, "As you know, your combined approval ratings were stagnant at 71%. That's been the threshold, the highest approval rating you were able to achieve. The rebel bombing and the King's subsequent injuries, along with the Queen's message to the people announcing the attack _did_ have ramifications on the numbers, however."

"Oh, God." America's breathing was getting away from her again.

"Your Majesty?" Stavros asked, worried.

"The numbers, Stavros." Maxon reminded him, sternly, while soothingly rubbing America's back.

"Yes, sir, of course. Your current combined approval ratings now rest at 76.5%."

It took a long moment for America to catch up, because when she didn't hear the number '75' her heart sank. Then her brain remembered that 76 was higher than 75, and she looked up. Maxon was already beaming.

"We did it?" Maxon asked, looking for confirmation.

"You did it." Stavros nodded, his expression full of pride. "I can now officially advise that you formally amend the laws of inheritance during the legislative session next week. I'm sorry that it took your nearly dying to rally the country around you, but I am immensely proud of these numbers. They represent months of hard work and sacrifice, and they herald a new future for Illéa, and Illéan women in particular."

America let out the breath she'd been holding, lowering her face into her hands. "We did it." she whispered.

"I know." Maxon grinned.

"We're amending the laws of inheritance."

"Yes, we are." Maxon agreed.

"I still think I'm going to throw up."

"Alright, let's go to the bathroom."

"Good idea."

Maxon laughed and helped her up. Once in the bathroom, America did dry heave a couple of times, but she didn't throw up. Her stomach settled right back down again, and the burst of heat all over her body receded. She was no longer in shock. "Maxon." She laughed, as it hit her all over again. They'd done it. Their baby was safe.

"I know. I _know_!" Maxon hugged her closely.

America pulled back and kissed him, then laughed and released him. "I love you a squillion." she managed. It was all she could really think in that moment.

Maxon barked a quick laugh, too. "I love you a squillion and five."

"We did it."

"We did it." Maxon confirmed.

"I mean… that dumb idea I had—"

"_Amazing revelation_, you mean." Maxon corrected, amused.

"Yeah, but it's happening. I mean… I talked to you, in a safe room, and we made a plan… and now Illéa is going to be a better place, forever."

"They are going to say _such_ lovely things about you in the history books." Maxon marveled, stretching his arms all the way out so that they could reach around the baby bump and his hands could rest on her lower back. "Of course, _I _am going to say even lovelier things about you to our children. Our daughters are going to hear about this, Ames, you mark my words. They're going to know and appreciate what you've done for them."

America tilted her head back and laughed, "Watch. Now that we've done all of this, we're going to end up with seven sons."

Maxon shook his head. "Then, on the eighth try, we'll get our daughter. Or one of those sons will give us a granddaughter. It doesn't really matter now, either way, does it? That was the whole point. Now, Palace full of girls, Palace full of boys, or Palace divided, all of our children and grandchildren will have equal privileges, protections, and responsibilities."

"Ten fingers, ten toes." America nodded. "That's all we have to worry about now." They both lowered their eyes to the enormous stomach between them. Ten fingers, ten toes. It didn't matter what kind of baby they got, all that mattered to them now was its health and its happiness. They were finally just like any other parents in the world.


	54. Chapter 54

"How's that?" Maxon asked, rolling the bottom of his right fist hard, just to the side of America's lower back. He made firm circles, trying to facilitate blood flow.

"A little better." America replied, her voice clipped.

"This is the worst one all week, isn't it?"

"Mhmm." she nodded.

"Maybe we should go to the pool…"

"I don't want go to the pool right now, Maxon." She tried not to snap, but it was 2 AM and she was exhausted and heavy, her ankles ached and her whole spine felt like it was on fire. "I just want to go to sleep."

"I want that for you, too." Maxon said. "Perhaps if we called one of the night maids in here, someone with actual massage training?"

America considered it. "I don't think it would help." she reluctantly admitted, shoulders slumping painfully in defeat.

Maxon's hand fell away from her back, and he crawled to her side of the bed, slipping his legs over the edge so that he could sit next to her. "We'll get some medicine from Dr. Ashlar, something to ease the pain—"

"I don't want _drugs_, Maxon!" America complained.

"I know that, my love. All you want is sleep, but that's not going to happen until you're more comfortable."

America felt like crying. She rested her head on his shoulder, trying to build up enough energy for a walk to the hospital wing at this hour. "I'm sorry, Maxon. I wish I wasn't so grouchy."

Maxon chuckled, wryly. "Don't apologize, Love. I don't mind your grouchiness, you well-deserve your displeasure. And after all, I'm the one who wanted an heir."

"We both did."

"Do." he reminded her.

"Yeah, yeah." she grumbled, rubbing her belly and wincing absentmindedly as a gentle twinge clamped through her stomach. "Do. I still want you, Baby, but I want you to be gentler with me." America lectured her bump, expecting Maxon to be amused at the very least, but he wasn't paying the slightest attention to her words.

Instead, he leant away, forcing her to lift her head, and he studied her face for a long moment. "Ames… was that another pre-contraction?"

America shrugged, she was honestly getting used to them by now. They still spooked Maxon, but they hardly bothered her. "So?"

"I don't know, just… you've been having a lot of them."

"Well, my due date is only four days away." America reasoned. "That's normal."

"I don't mean in _general_, you've been having more. I mean tonight." Maxon said. "I've counted five." He continued to eye her tired, drawn face carefully and then shook his head, "We're going to see Dr. Ashlar."

"Maxon—"

"I insist. First time parents make lots calls to midwives and visits to doctors, thinking they've gone into labor. They're usually wrong, but it's a rite of passage. It's our turn to come to the wrong conclusion, let's go wake Dr. Ashlar and make him earn his paycheck for once. Come on." Maxon was slipping on his robe before America could stop him. "At the very least, he'll be able to help you with your back pain."

"Maxon, I'm _not _in labor."

"Fine." He was holding his hands out to her, waiting for her to take them so that he could help her stand.

"Let's just rearrange the pillows again and see if that takes some of the pressure off of my spine." America suggested.

"Walking will help." Maxon counter-offered. "It'll get oxygen pumping through your veins, which will help with the pain."

America could see that Maxon wasn't going to let her go back to sleep until she saw Dr. Ashlar. Even if she pretended to be all healed, and made a great show of how wonderful her back miraculously felt, he wouldn't stop until she'd visited the hospital wing.

"I hate this." America whimpered, the shift in pressure from sitting to standing was enough to have her hiss in a quick breath.

"I know. I'm so sorry, Love, this is terrible." Maxon agreed, sympathetically.

Maxon matched her slow pace flawlessly, never lessening his hold on her waist. He eased her gently down the stairs, and occasionally rubbed soothing patterns on her back. When they got close to the hospital wing, Maxon had a guard that they were passing leave his post to awaken Dr. Ashlar and summon him to America's usual examination room. By the time Maxon got America settled on the bed, Dr. Ashlar was sleepily walking through the doors.

"Ought I to call you Maxon and America, as we're in the small hours of the morning?" Dr. Ashlar joked.

"Of course." Maxon grinned in response. "That's the deal, after all."

"Well, what seems to be the problem?" Dr. Ashlar by now had taken a good look at America's tight, pained expression and his jovial tone was rapidly shifting into one of concern.

"It's my fault, really." Maxon explained. "Her back has been torturing her for the last couple of hours, and separately, she's been having more pre-contractions than usual. Of course, the ghost contractions are to be expected as we get closer and closer to her due date, but I couldn't stop myself. I got it into my head that those contractions might be real, that she might be in early labor, so I made her come down here and bother you."

Maxon was very kind to take all of the blame, but America wished he'd put in a request for those drugs he was going to have forced on her. Since he was insisting, she might as well get them now.

"Back pain?" Dr. Ashlar asked America, crossing over to the stool he usually sat on while examining her and rolling it over to the end of the bed.

"Like fire." America nodded.

"Hm. And a slight pickup in pre-contractions?"

"I didn't even notice, honestly." America said. "I think my back is just wearing out, it doesn't really feel like labor."

Dr. Ashlar pressed gently against her stomach, feeling for something, quickly listened for the baby's heart rate through the stethoscope, and then checking America for dilation. "Well, your Majesty, you were right." Dr. Ashlar said, straightening up and removing his latex gloves, tossing them into the trashcan in the corner of the room.

"She usually is." Maxon smiled.

"Ah, no, your Majesty. _You _were right." Dr. Ashlar clarified, remembering why he wasn't supposed to use titles with them in the middle of the night. It was too much to sort through which Majesty was which. "America is dilated just shy of a three right now. She _is _in the early stages of labor."

Maxon slipped off his chair, but caught himself before falling. "Wait… what?" he had a look of pure, undiluted panic in his eyes.

"You were right, Maxon." Dr. Ashlar repeated, smiling warmly. "Congratulations. We're going to have a baby today."

"No." America said, speaking before she could stop herself. "No, I can't. I can't be in labor. Not today."

"America—" Dr. Ashlar's tone was consoling, like he thought she was just nervous or something.

"You don't understand, the _ceremony_. The amendment, it's _today_. I _can__'__t_ be in labor today. You need to stop it."

"Ames—" Maxon tried.

"No!" America's voice raised, angrily. "You have something you can give me, you have to. Some medicine or drug you give mothers who go into preterm labor? To stop it, slow it down?"

Dr. Ashlar became stern but not mean. He wanted her to understand that he was a medical authority and what he was telling her was truth. "America, you are nine months pregnant. You are only 94 hours shy of your due date. This is not 'preterm labor', this is _labor_, and I will not administer anything to slow the process. That could endanger your child."

"That's not… " America didn't even bother saying it. Of course that wasn't what she wanted. She'd never do _anything_ to endanger her child, so she saved her breath and continued, "First time mothers carry over the due date, sometimes for weeks. You told me so."

"That is statistically correct, America, but not an absolute rule. Babies come when they are ready, and your baby is clearly ready and coming. This is a joyous occasion." Dr. Ashlar grinned.

America turned to Maxon, panic-stricken, "Oh, God, Maxon."

"It's alright, Ames." Maxon said soothingly, standing and joining her, rubbing his hands on her upper arms to create friction and reassuring warmth. "I can move the ceremony. We'll do it in January."

"Are you _crazy_?" America snapped, meaner than she'd meant to be. "The amendment! It has to be signed _before _the baby is born."

"Of course it will be, but we don't have to do the ceremonial things. I can just sign it in my office and hand it off to Stavros before rejoining you—"

"No, no, no—" America was shaking now, anxiety coursing through her veins. "No, we _have_ to do this officially. That was part of the deal, that's what keeps the people happy."

"We have a 76% approval rating!" Maxon argued.

"Which is only enough if we do everything else by the book, Maxon! The amendment needs to be presented in the formal session, the formal session must be preceded by the opening ceremony, _I _need to preside over the opening ceremony, and it all has to happen before this baby is born."

Dr. Ashlar pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to alleviate some of the tension building up behind his eyes. Now was _not_ the time for a tension headache. He took a long, deep breath, and said, "You're honestly going to preside over an official state ceremony while you're in _labor_, America?"

"I don't think I have a choice. Like you said, this baby is ready and it's coming. Now."

"Of course you _have a choice_." Maxon's tone was almost angry, it was so desperate. "Don't do the ceremony."

"That's really not helpful right now, Maxon." America pinched her lips together, rubbing at her lower back. "How long do you think I have, Dr. Ashlar?"

"I have no idea." Dr. Ashlar said, shrugging. "First time mothers are usually slower—"

"Hah. I'm not listening to any more 'first time mother' wisdom, thank you." America griped.

"It could be a few hours, it could be more than a day."

"It could?" America looked almost hopeful.

Dr. Ashlar looked to the skies as if for mercy, "God above, this is the first time I've ever coached a mother hoping for a long, drawn out, 36 hour labor."

"Yes! That's what I need." America said. "How can I keep things… you know… subdued?"

Dr. Ashlar crossed his arm, frowning, but he reluctantly advised her. "I always tell my patients to walk around, the movement helps ease things along. So for you—"

"Stay off my feet. Okay. What else?"

Dr. Ashlar shrugged, "That's all I know. I refuse to give you any drugs that might slow things down, you can fire me if you need to—"

"Of course we won't." Maxon intervened. "You're our third partner in this labor and birth. You're our teammate." Maxon ran both hands through his hair. "Okay. The opening ceremony is at noon. We have ten hours. That's too far to see into the future, we have no idea how America will be by then."

"That's right." Dr. Ashlar nodded.

"For now, how about we get her comfortable and resting? No matter what, a few hours of sleep would be helpful."

"Agreed." Dr. Ashlar uncrossed his arms. They both looked at America.

"Sleep." America nodded, feeling the fatigue in every muscle in her body. "I need sleep."

"Afterwards, we'll check in and see how things are progressing… if we need to move the ceremony up—"

"Impossible." America said. "The governors, the advisers, the witnesses—"

"Alright." Maxon breathed in and out through his nose. "You're right. If it happens today, then it happens at noon. You're _right_."

America looked between the two frustrated men in front of her. "We worked all year for this amendment."

"You worked all year for this _baby_." Dr. Ashlar reminded her.

"The amendment is for the baby. It's the last bit of housekeeping we need to take care of before it arrives, and it _has _to happen before it arrives. Can you… understand that?" America asked, tentatively.

"I can." Dr. Ashlar admitted. "I… Of course I agree with the amendment, but I _can__'__t _advise you to work through your labor."

"Kenna worked a twelve-hour shift at a factory while she was in labor with Astra. She says it helped things go more smoothly, and Astra turned out just fine."

"Duchess Kenna was lucky. If something had gone wrong, she would not have had the help she needed." Dr. Ashlar said.

"Well… Alright, so you might have to wheel me out and administer medical attention in the middle of the ceremony. I don't care, as long as I'm there when I have to be, and the amendment is signed publicly, in accordance with all of the traditions of Illéan— ouch." America wrinkled her nose up and rubbed at her belly as a twinge gripped her again.

Maxon and Dr. Ashlar shared a knowing look.

It was going to be a long day.

* * *

Dr. Ashlar gave America a gentle pain killer that had the added benefit of making her sleepy. She wasn't sure if she'd ever have managed to fall asleep without it. As tired as she was, she was also extremely nervous and jittery and excited and worried. She was in _labor _for crying out loud. Her baby was currently in the process of being _born_. It was too much to process, especially on such a tired brain.

Maxon and America returned to America's bedroom, and Dr. Ashlar instituted the protocol he had in place for when the Queen went into labor. He would be with her for most of the day, and his normal work would be covered by his second-in-command and the other doctors on staff.

Once the correct protocols were put into place, and the need for secrecy and privacy reinforced to everyone who now knew that the Queen was in labor, Dr. Ashlar joined America and Maxon in their quarters, napping on the sofa in the family room and periodically waking America to check on her progress. It wasn't happening quickly, but it was definitely happening. Six hours after their trip to the hospital wing, when it was time to get up for breakfast, America had dilated another centimeter, putting her somewhere around a four.

"Perfect." America said, when she heard this news. "Even if I only dilate two more centimeters in the next six hours, I'll have plenty of time and energy for the ceremony."

"America." Dr. Ashlar was trying to contain his weary exasperation. "You _will_ start progressing more quickly as the contractions intensify."

"I know." America frowned. "I only meant… well, I'm glad I didn't wake up fully dilated or something." Ten was the magic number. Ten centimeters dilated meant that it was time to start pushing, and America knew her body would push whether she wanted it to or not, whether she was in the middle of a ceremony or not. It was natural instinct.

Dr. Ashlar shook his head, torn between amusement and pity. "You wouldn't have woken up fully dilated, your M… America. Labor is an intensive process, it's not the kind of thing you can sleep through until it's time to start pushing."

Mary chose that moment to appear, ready to help America dress for the day. She was taken aback by the presence of Maxon and Dr. Ashlar, both looking serious, in America's bedroom.

"It's not a big deal, Mary." America began to explain. "I'm just a little bit in labor, that's all."

Mary's jaw dropped wide open. Apparently, she thought it _was _a big deal. _Especially _on amendment day.

While America dressed for breakfast, Maxon and Dr. Ashlar revisited their plan for the day. Dr. Ashlar would monitor America closely, checking heart rates and blood pressure and the progression of her labor as needed. Maxon would stay as close as possible, moving his work into the Women's Room where America would be based for the day.

Dr. Ashlar agreed that keeping America's mind busy would help pass the time between contractions, so America would be allowed to consult with Silvia on the final preparations for the formal legislative session, but she needed to rest her body as much as possible. She still had a baby to birth, in addition to everything else she was doing, after all.

"The birthing suite is being prepared for you as we speak." Dr. Ashlar said, on the slow walk down to breakfast. America didn't want to move quickly, she didn't want to risk speeding up the progression of her labor. The contractions were already more noticeable now than they had been in the early hours of the morning. She felt like she had a bad case of cramps, and she knew they would only get worse until the baby was born.

If only the baby had chosen tomorrow to come. Then America could be relaxing in the hospital wing, with pain killers and soothing music and a soft bed, and without any major state functions to oversee. Maxon caught her pouting and gently stroked her lower back, which always made her feel a _little _better.

Dr. Ashlar was still talking. "There will come a time when the contractions will be too intense to delay going to the birthing suite any longer. You will know when that time comes sooner than I will, America. Before, during, or after the ceremony, you need to do what's best and safest for the baby. There's a chance that means leaving the state functions to Maxon."

"I understand." Call it first-time bravado, but America couldn't imagine any measure of pain strong enough to lead her to put the amendment in jeopardy. She knew she couldn't push the baby out in the middle of the Throne Room, but if she was short of ten centimeters dilated, it wouldn't come to that. Surely she could grit her teeth through a half-hour televised ceremony if she was less than ten centimeters?

"And in the event that your water breaks, I want that to act as an emergency shutdown button for you. Not every woman has her water break naturally, and sometimes waters break very early in the process, but if you are a typical case, the intensity of your contractions will naturally break your water. When that happens, just accept that the baby has dictated that it's time to go and prepare yourself for the hard part."

As he said this, America's stomach tingled with nerves. It was hard to believe that she was really doing this, having a baby. She'd been pregnant for a long time, but this was the first time she was really _having a baby _in the present tense. Hopefully her body could handle what was about to happen to it. She looked over and studied Dr. Ashlar's face as he continued to outline the day for her. It occurred to her how much she and Maxon were relying on him to see both her and the baby safely through this.

"Ames?" Maxon asked, and America realized Dr. Ashlar had asked her a question.

"Your back? The pressure is better?" Dr. Ashlar asked again.

"Yes. I mean, it's sore, but no more than usual. Nothing like last night."

Dr. Ashlar nodded, "Severe back pain like the kind you described is frequently an early sign of labor."

They arrived at the dining room and Dr. Ashlar bowed. He'd be eating in the staff lunchroom, and meeting up with America and Maxon in the Women's Room afterward.

"Ready for breakfast?" Maxon smiled, eagerly. One look into his chocolate brown eyes, and America knew how much he was looking forward to telling the rest of the family the exciting news.

"I think so." America nodded, still feeling jittery, though she didn't know why. Then she realized that, this time, the tingles in her stomach had been the beginnings of another contraction. She inhaled and exhaled deliberately, through the small 'o' of her lips, the burning, squeezing pain in her midriff monopolizing her attention.

Dr. Ashlar filled the silence so that she wouldn't have to. "Nothing too heavy at breakfast, America. As the pain gets worse, it tends to trigger nausea. Go for nutrient-dense staple foods that will give your body the energy it needs."

America nodded, still unwilling to speak. Dr. Ashlar checked his watch. "Eighteen minutes since the last one." he reported. "The one before that was twenty minutes. So they are coming regularly now, that's good news. It leads me to doubt that we'll need to administer any medication to keep the contractions from stalling out. You seem to be doing very well, naturally, your Majesty."

"I'd say so." Maxon wrapped his arms around her and rubbed her back with both hands, waiting for the contraction to pass. It wouldn't take too long, and then they'd go in for breakfast. "She's been in labor since midnight, if that back pain was truly the first sign. She's doing very well, for being almost nine hours in."

"I agree, your Majesty." Dr. Ashlar said. "But we're going to keep a close eye on her, and on the baby, especially over these next few hours leading up to the ceremony."

Maxon nodded, and returned his gaze to America's face. She exhaled, as if in relief, and Maxon pressed a kiss to her cheek. "Ready, my love?"

America blinked and arched her back a little, as if stretching after a long sleep. "Mhmm. Nutrient dense foods, nothing too heavy."

"And stay hydrated." Dr. Ashlar gave his final command as he bowed again and then left them.

The whole family was already seated and starting breakfast when Maxon opened the door for America, hand on the small of her back, a physical show of his emotional support.

They were bade 'good morning' by the whole group, and Astra slipped out of her boosted seat to give Maxon an enormous hug.

"Did you have good dreams?" Maxon asked, hoisting her up into his arms.

"Yes! There was a monster, and he had big purple fur, but when I hugged him he turned so nice!" Astra grinned. "His name was Jeremy. He's my friend now."

"Oh." Maxon laughed. "That sounds like quite a good dream."

"Yes." Astra agreed. "Need help with your toast?"

Kenna tried to intervene, "Astra, baby, we have plenty of toast over here—"

"I _know_, Mommy, but Mackin needs help sometimes." Astra sassed.

Maxon bit back a snort at Astra's tone and then leant in, whispering, "Be nice to your mommy, Astra, she's a very good mommy."

"I was not mean!" Astra's eyes widened at the accusation.

"No, but that's not the same as being _nice_. It's possible not to be mean, but still not to be very nice, either."

"Mommy!" Astra worried, "You okay?"

"I'm fine, baby." Kenna smiled, absolutely in love with the exchange happening between her daughter and the King.

"Your feelings hurt?"

"No, not this time. I just want to let Maxon have plenty of time to eat."

"Mackin?"

"I would like it very much if you would sit with me, Astra, and help me with my toast, but only if your mommy agrees."

"Mommy?" Astra asked.

Maxon whispered again, "Use the magic word! It will help!"

"Oh, yes! _Please_, Mommy, I can sit with Mackin?"

Maxon and Astra made identical puppy dog eyes at Kenna, who laughed her assent. They were an inseparable duo, anyway. There was no point trying to keep them apart, no matter how good the intentions.

America used hard boiled eggs and cold, ripe berries to distract herself from worrying over everything that was about to happen. She kept her portions small and deliberate, and drank lots of water, and let the conversations around the table distract her.

Kenna and Magda were grilling May about a date she'd gone on the previous night with Officer Ryland Rivers, who was all but completely healed after saving the Singers' lives down in the bunker a few weeks earlier. May had kept him company while he was in the hospital wing, and he and May had been exchanging notes ever since. With K gone, they'd put their new sense of safety to the test and gone out to eat in Angeles without a personal guard for May. She'd had to beg and plead with Aspen to allow it, insisting that being with Ryland was already like having a personal guard. Aspen had given Ry the full big brother inquisition, along with menacing glares and threats of physical and emotional harm if Ryland let anything terrible happen to May while they were out. But in the end, May got her way (as usual).

For the first time in America's memory, May was being coy about the date. She was blushing, stabbing at her food, and begging for the subject to be changed.

"You _really _like him, don't you?" America asked, amazed.

"Well… I don't know, I think so." May shrugged. "He's different." Then she blinked, "I mean, _he__'__s _not different, it's not like he's the only human guy of his kind, I'm sure there are lots of guys out there with similar personalities and senses of humor and manners and kind eyes…" She blushed again. "But I feel differently _about _him. I don't know what it means yet, so I'm not really ready to talk about it…"

"Look on the bright side, monkey face." America teased. "At least he's not dating 34 other girls at the same time that he's dating you."

"She's never going to let that go." Maxon shook his head, peeking up from where he was helping Astra balance a spoon precariously full of blueberries and yogurt on its way to her eager lips.

May chuckled, pleased that the conversation was shifting. "She really should. It all worked out in the end." May nodded towards America's belly.

Maxon met America's eyes excitedly, but America just took another bite of egg. He was clearly far more excited than she was about telling her family that she was in labor. She'd let him handle it.

"Hey, Astra?" Maxon said, with an absurdly wide smile.

"Hey, Mackin." she said, licking apple juice off of her lips.

"Want to hear something good?"

"Yeah!"

"I think that maybe the baby will be here by bedtime tonight." The entire table froze, except America who sipped her water, watching for Astra's reaction.

"On the outside?" Astra asked turning her head sharply to the side so that she could see Maxon's face from where she sat in his lap.

"Yeah, on the outside, where we can hold it and feed it and kiss its little face."

"That baby is coming outside today?" Astra asked, grinning. "For real?"

"Yep." Maxon glanced up at the others around the table, whose utensils were now abandoned on their plates as they looked between Maxon and America, stunned. "Aunt Ames had a tummy ache last night, so we went to the doctor, and he said that the baby is going to come out sometime today or tonight. Hopefully before bedtime."

"Oh, wow!"

"If it's not before bedtime, maybe I can convince your mommy and daddy to let me wake you up so you can meet your new baby cousin. Would you like that?"

"Yes, I would love it! _Please, _Mommy? _Please, _Daddy?" Astra looked between her parents, hopefully. She even remembered to emphasize the magic word.

James gulped first, "Yeah, Kiddo. Of course you can wake up to meet your baby cousin."

"Yay!" Astra clapped. "Mackin, it's going to be that baby's birthday?"

"Yes." Maxon grinned, and for the first time it struck both he and America that it really _was _going to be their baby's birthday. For the rest of their lives, December 11th would be a special, amazing day… assuming America could get the baby out by midnight. Entire festivals and feasts would be planned to commemorate this day throughout all of Illéa, maybe even all of the world. It would become a national holiday, it would go down in history as the future King or Queen's birthday, but most importantly, it would always be the day Maxon and America became parents for the very first time. December 11th really was their new favorite day.

"Want to make cake? And presents?" Astra proposed.

"Hm… That's a good idea." Maxon studied America carefully, sitting next to him. "The baby will be too small to eat cake or play with presents, but we could get some very nice things for Aunt Ames, since she's going to have such a tummy ache, getting the baby out."

"Ouch, yes, she will need cake." Astra diagnosed, seriously. Then, suddenly, a thought seemed to occur to her. "It will be hard work, Aunt Ames?" she asked, clearly remembering the conversation she'd had with Kenna the week before, the morning of her birthday.

"Yes, it will be very hard work, but I'm happy." America smiled, reassuringly.

Kenna cleared her throat, "How, um… how far along are you?"

"About four centimeters… the contractions are still really spaced out. Twenty minutes apart or so."

"And… um…" Magda was looking between Maxon and America now. "The legislative session?"

America suspected that the grim look she shared with Maxon was more than enough to answer her mother's question.

"As of now," Maxon said, "America still plans to attend the opening ceremony with me. Obviously, she won't be there when I present the various legislation to the congregates, but that's alright. Queens have not always historically attended that part of the formal session. It won't raise many eyebrows that their heavily pregnant Queen leaves to rest for that part."

"She won't be resting at all." Kenna shook her head.

"We know that. They'll probably find out at some point, too." Maxon sighed. "But that's not the point."

"What's the point?" James asked, the protectiveness in his tone was unmistakable.

"The point," America said, speaking for herself, "Is that the amendment will be presented properly, and anyone who tries to contest its legitimacy will fail miserably, because the signing will be televised, live, for the entire world to see."

"I get that part, I get that Maxon needs to sign it in front of cameras. I don't get what that has to do with you." James frowned.

"The opening ceremony is performed in front of both monarchs, it's Illéan tradition. We're keeping to as many of those as possible right now, to help ease the sting of altering the inheritance laws." America explained. She could already tell she was going to get tired of explaining herself today. She really needed to start thinking about conserving her energy, maybe letting Maxon do the talking the next time they were asked.

"So you're still going through with the ceremony?" May asked, amazed. "Ames, you're in _labor_!"

"I've noticed." America frowned, "And I know I'm supposed to be laying on a bed somewhere, screaming and sweating and saying horrible things to Maxon, but I just don't feel that way. Not right now, at least. Maybe later, but for now, it's actually helping me to have this to focus on. Dr. Ashlar is staying close, I promise I will be more than safe. It's not like I even have to leave the Palace to do this, it's a half hour of sitting on my throne, right down the hall from here. The baby and I are both going to be _fine, _and I'll still have more than enough time to shout and cry and punish Maxon and lay down on a bed with my legs propped up. _After _the ceremony."

It was obvious to everyone in the room that her mind was made up, and they knew better than to try to change it. America was easily the most stubborn of all of Magda and Shalom's children.

"Can we help?" Gerad asked, and America smiled. Leave it to her amazing, wonderful baby brother to be the first one to offer to help her, rather than try to stop her.

"I'll let you know if I think of something." America promised, winking at him.

Breakfast went back to a sort of subdued normalcy. Astra was full of ideas for all of the 'for pretends' she wanted to play with her baby cousin, and she was telling Maxon all about them. Gerad and James went back to discussing the sports match they'd been talking about earlier, and May, Kenna, and Magda began talking about who would be spending the night with the new baby first. Kenna thought she should get the honor because she was technically the royal nanny, but Magda argued that Grandmothers always deserved first dibs. May insisted that Magda already had a grandchild, so she'd already gotten her dibs, and May wanted a chance to spend the night with a brand new baby.

America focused in on their conversations even harder when the next contraction hit. She tried not to draw attention to herself, folding her hands neatly in her lap, staring at the plate of food in front of her, and breathing through the now slightly-worse-than-annoying pain.

Astra was in the middle of describing a 'for pretend' game that she'd been saving to play with the baby, where he and the baby had magic powers and she had to set them free so that they could teach her how to do magic.

"Do you want to play that one tonight, or would you rather play the one where the baby is lost and you and I save it with kisses and bottles of milk?" Maxon asked.

"Hm… I don't know." Astra considered carefully. "We can play where we fight some mean dragons with Aunt Ames."

"That sounds like a lot of work for a baby that's just been born." Maxon mused.

"Yes… that baby will be tired, huh?"

"Babies need a lot of sleep to get bigger and stronger." Maxon agreed.

"We can play a sleeping baby one. Where we have to be quiet and gentle while we look for treasures?"

"That sounds perfect." Maxon nodded his approval, but America had caught his attention now. Wordlessly, he slipped his hand onto her knee, under the table, and squeezed gently. "Doesn't Aunt Ames look beautiful today?" Maxon smiled.

"She is always very pretty." Astra agreed, absently, unaware that they were speaking for America's benefit.

America gave Maxon a tight, grateful smile and he winked in response, before carrying on his conversation with Astra in hopes of creating more distraction for America to listen to. When she felt the cramping pain begin to pass, the tension seemed to melt from her shoulders and she returned to the chopped banana with peanut butter that she'd been steadily eating before the contraction hit. However, Maxon left his hand on her knee for the rest of breakfast.

* * *

Silvia could always be trusted under pressure. While Dr. Ashlar took a new reading of the baby's and America's heart rates, with Maxon staying close to his wife's side until Dr. Ashlar confirmed that everything was progressing as expected, Silvia ran the Palace. She answered every question, and directed every confused junior adviser, maid, or member of Gavril's television crew. She organized and prepared final papers to be signed by America and created a functional work area in the Women's Room for Maxon. Basically, Silvia _was _the King and Queen, until Dr. Ashlar gave America a clean bill of health, and permission to continue working.

There were only two and a half hours left until the ceremony. America needed to give final approval on camera angles with Gavril, and choose the locations for the flower arrangements that were currently being carted in through the service entrance in the kitchens.

Maxon was going over language with Stavros, making sure everything that happened after the ceremony (when the actual laws would be presented, witnessed, and signed) went off without a hitch. He cast worried looks at America so often that she thought he'd develop whiplash, but he did manage to hold back his concern enough to let her work.

Over the course of the hour that America spent making final preparations for the ceremony, she had _five_ contractions. She'd been expecting them to get stronger, and maybe last a little longer, but it seemed to her that they were growing more frequent much too quickly for her tastes. At this rate, the entire ceremony would be one long contraction.

However, when America left Maxon so that she could begin dressing for the ceremony, Dr. Ashlar followed her up to her rooms and examined her again. She was only five centimeters dilated which helped ease her anxiety about her labor progressing too quickly. She was halfway through now, and it had taken over ten hours to get this far. The second half was bound to speed up, but even so, she knew that she'd make it through the ceremony without actually giving birth on the throne. From then on, it was up to Maxon to usher in the new legislation quickly, efficiently, and spotlessly.

America had a nice, long, cool bath during which she suffered two hard contractions. They were the kind of pain that would have stopped her in her tracks, if she'd been walking. Being submerged in water helped her discomfort between contractions immensely, and she enjoyed having the quiet time to herself. She didn't know, with certainty, when the next time she'd have a quiet moment alone would be. From now on, everything happened around the baby's schedule. America couldn't help but smile a little at the thought, until her next contraction creeped up on her with a vengeance.

This ceremony was definitely an occasion when America would need to wear her crown, and for the first time, she was truly _dreading _it. She asked Mary to take her time with doing her makeup and hair, and even allowed Mary to massage her hands, feet, and shoulders, just to delay the moment when that heavy, metal thing would become attached to her head.

She'd be wearing the crown Maxon had given her as one of her wedding gifts, and it was beautiful and personal, with its etchings and carvings. America loved it, but not today. Not when its weight would be added to the stress of a live national broadcast, and when all of that stress would be added to the stress of _labor_.

Luckily for America, hair and makeup took longer than usual without Mary having to slow down the process. America now had a very light sheen of sweat on her face and neck, the result of the growing intensity and frequency of the contractions. This caused her makeup to run and her hair to wilt, and Mary to have to take extra measures, including lowering the temperature in America's room and altering the type of makeup she was applying. Still, all too soon, the crown was being pinned to to top of America's red head.

"I didn't think women in labor were supposed to look this beautiful, Mary." America smiled appreciatively at her reflection. "I thought we were supposed to be tormented."

Mary gently rubbed America's arms, bracingly, "Women in labor are the most beautiful creatures in the world, your Majesty. They are right in the middle of bringing brand new life into this world, like some kind of goddess. Childbirth is one of the few true miracles we have left, and women in labor are the very essence of it."

America smiled and kissed Mary's cheek. "Thank you."

Mary beamed back at her, and even let a giggle escape her lips. "I can't wait to meet your baby."

"A baby that wouldn't exist if it wasn't for you, Lucy, and Anne. You got me through Maxon's Selection, even when I didn't want to get through it."

"And now we're here." Mary placed a gentle touch to America's stomach.

America pulled Mary in for a long hug, grateful to have always had such a wonderful ally. Mary wasn't just an invaluable part of America's support system, she was also an amazing human being and a loving friend. "Alright." America released her and straightened up. "I'm going to use the bathroom and then we should probably go meet up with Maxon. It'll be time to take our places, soon."

It definitely took longer to finish up in the bathroom than America expected it to. Right in the middle of washing her hands, another contraction hit her. She hadn't been expecting it for another minute or two, and this one was definitely the worst one so far. She used the countertop to support her, and allowed herself to double over, breathing as deliberately as she could, but keeping her mouth clamped shut for fear of crying out.

That was when she felt it. The tell-tale gush of warm water flooding down her legs and onto the floor. She'd heard that this experience could be confusing, the first time, but she knew what had happened the very second that she felt the wetness. "Damn it!" America swore, pounding her flat hand against the countertop in frustration, pain, and fear. Her water had just broken.

"Your Majesty?" Mary's voice called out from the other side of the door. She cracked the door open, saw America doubled over in pain, and took in the sight of the dampened dress and puddle on the floor.

"I'm sorry—" America gritted, but Mary was already in action.

"Don't worry about a thing." she insisted, gathering several towels from the linen cupboard and letting them fall at America's feet. She used her own foot to guide one of the towels through the puddle, and gripped America's hand with her own, using the other to gently stroke America's back. "Just breathe. Don't worry about anything else."

America felt tears spill down her cheek, but they weren't from the pain. They were tears of frustration and anxiety. "Mary—"

"Not until it passes, ma'am." Mary cooed.

America took a breath, already feeling the tension in her stomach begin to loosen. "You can't even call me 'America' while you're coaxing me through a contraction and mopping up my broken water?"

Mary laughed, "Of course I _can_. But your titles are terms of endearment when they come from me."

America nodded, knowing it was true. Mary said 'Your Majesty' and 'Ma'am' to her the way that other people said 'Sweetheart' and 'Darling' to people they loved. With softness and gentleness and affection.

"Now then." Mary smiled, "Feeling better?"

"Yes… No. Dr. Ashlar won't let me sit through the ceremony now." More tears spilled down America's cheek, and she accepted the tissue Mary offered her, using it to mop up moisture before it ruined her makeup.

"Maybe that's for the best. That was a bad one, wasn't it? It's not as though they're going to get any easier." Mary's tone was all compassion, and her eyes were all concern.

"I know… but I can handle it. And the baby is fine, its heart rate is perfect and steady. I can do this. I _need_ to do this."

Mary didn't need to ask why. She'd been at the meetings of the Queen's Council, she'd contributed some powerful, amazing ideas that helped America and Maxon achieve their 76% joint approval rating.

America took a regrouping breath, tugged at her lower lip with her teeth for a moment, and then straightened up, resolve running through her like steel. "You'll tell Dr. Ashlar that my water has broken… the moment the Illéan national anthem begins to play at the start of the ceremony."

Mary looked reproachfully at her, "That's not a good idea, ma'am, he needs to know how you're progressing."

America looked through her open bathroom door to the clock on her nightstand. "Forty-five minutes, Mary. You'll tell him in forty-five minutes. What's forty-five minutes in the scope of things?"

"I'll do as you say, of course, but—"

"I need a new dress."

"That's not a problem, you have the same dress in silver. But your Majesty—"

"Mary, you can't change my mind. I'll be perfectly safe, sitting up there on that throne, it's not a big deal. What's the difference between sitting on the throne and sitting in a hospital bed, really? I don't need you to tell me that it'll hurt or remind me that I made a deal with Dr. Ashlar, that once my water broke I'd go to the hospital wing. What I need is for you to help me into a new dress, please, and then walk me down to the Women's Room."

Mary studied America's face closely as she nodded, "Yes Ma'am, of course."

* * *

Maxon was dressed and ready, his own crown on his head, when America and Mary made it down to the Women's Room.

"How are you?" Maxon asked, concern radiating from his features.

"Fine." America promised. It wasn't a lie, she _was_ fine, all things considered. "The contractions are still about ten minutes apart, maybe a little less."

Maxon breathed. "Okay. I had the ceremony slightly altered—"

"Maxon!"

"No, it's not a big deal. Nothing is cut, I just rearranged a few things. As always, we'll walk in, the attendants will rise, the anthem will play, we'll sit, they'll pledge their allegiance to Illéa, then they'll pledge their loyalty to me—"

"I won't join them?" she usually joined them as they pledged fealty to Maxon.

"No, I refuse to have you kneeling there, pledging loyalty to me during a contraction or something." Maxon winced. "You pledged all the loyalty you'll ever need to show me when you married me. It's not a big deal, the cameras won't even be showing you during that part. I'd just as soon you rest through it."

"Okay."

Maxon cleared his throat, "So then, Gavril, Stavros, and I moved Stavros' opening remarks. They'll follow the pledge of loyalty, and we added several paragraphs, monotonous and droning, but they'll buy us a few more minutes off-camera. We moved the podium where Stavros will be speaking ever so slightly, so that the camera angle will be adjusted."

"No one will be able to see me slip out?" America asked.

"Exactly. The attendants will be instructed not to rise or acknowledge our exit. They've been told that I want you resting during the duration of the session, and they believe it, given how protective I've been of you."

"Little do they know, I'll be heading straight to the hospital wing." America said.

"Exactly." Maxon smiled. "You'll be in and out in twenty minutes, if everything goes smoothly. I know you'll have to suffer through at least one contraction—" he worried.

"I'll be fine."

"Are they bad?"

"They're terrible, but I can sit through them." America assured him.

Mary and Justin appeared in the doorway, ceremonial cloaks draped over their arms.

The cloaks were old, these specific ones dated back to Porter Schreave, who'd wanted to replace the Illéa's cloaks with a design unique to the Schreave line. They were heavy, intricately stitched and woven with real gold in the thread, and with long trains flowing behind them.

Silvia poked her head in the room, "Your Majesties," she curtsied, "Gavril is delivering his welcoming address. It's time to take your places."

America consulted the clock on the wall. Noon exactly.

Maxon and America allowed themselves to be cloaked, letting Mary and Justin see to the silver fastenings and adjustments in how the garments were laying.

"Your hair always looks especially radiant when you wear that crown." Maxon smiled, taking in the sight of the golden tones in America's red hair being brought out by the golden hues in her crown. "Which only compliments the stunning blue of your eyes." he added. "How on earth did I convince you to marry me?" he marveled at his own good fortune.

"You dated dozens of other girls, kissed several of them, fell in love with one of them, and then got shot, if I remember correctly." America teased.

"Let's hope our children have an easier time of it." Maxon chuckled.

As Mary and Justin finished arranging the trains of the cloaks, America felt another contraction beginning to build. She gripped Maxon's hand tightly, and he pulled her in so that she could rest her head on his chest.

"Perfect timing." he mused, letting the rumble of his chest as he spoke be a comfort to her. "Now we have ten minutes until the next one. That should be plenty of time to get you on that throne."

"This one's bad." America murmured, trying to count the seconds as she breathed in, then breathed out.

"You're so strong." Maxon marveled. "You're absolutely amazing, my love. Thank you for doing this."

"It's just a ceremony." America managed.

Maxon snorted a laugh that caused America to glare up at him in annoyance. "I'm not laughing _at _you." Maxon defended. "I'm laughing because I wasn't talking about the ceremony at all. I mean this baby. I'm so grateful to you for this baby."

America nodded her new understanding, and then tugged the hand she was squeezing to her stomach. "Feel."

Maxon's brow furrowed as he touched her stomach through the opening of her cloak, over the layer of her dress. "It's… hard." Maxon said. "Like stone." he tapped her stomach.

"Contraction." America nodded.

"Your uterus is squeezing." Maxon realized. "And it's tensed and hard during contractions. Wow, that's… I feel like I'm going to be saying 'amazing' too many times today."

"Bring a thesaurus to the hospital wing." she joked, her voice weak. She felt a low pain in her back as her stomach began to relax and the contraction passed, and she realized it was because of the strange position she'd been leaning in. "Okay." she said, straightening up, the pinching pain in her back instantly better. "Let's go."

Maxon offered her his arm, and she took it, throwing her shoulders back and lifting her chin. Time to be the Queen of Illéa.

They walked down the hall toward the Throne Room together, Mary and Justin just behind them, adjusting their trains, and Silvia up ahead of them, giving a nod to one of Gavril's production managers. That manager would presumably cue the music that America and Maxon would walk to as they made their way down the long, red carpet to their thrones.

"Are you positive about this?" Maxon asked, peeking over at her as they walked. "It's not too late. Just go to the hospital wing—"

"I'm fine, the baby is fine, we still have hours until it will be born, and I'll get to slip out of the ceremony early. Everything's okay, Maxon." she said his name at the end, but she knew she was talking more to herself than anyone else. She could do this, couldn't she? Just hide a couple of contractions from the cameras, and then head off to the hospital wing, no problem. She shifted uncomfortably within the heavy, stifling cloak, her neck already aching from the added weight of her crown. "Twenty minutes. Just twenty more minutes."

The last thing America did before entering the Throne Room was glance back at Mary. It was a reminder to get Dr. Ashlar, and to tell him about her broken water. Mary nodded her understanding and offered a bracing little smile as America turned around and began the walk with Maxon to their thrones.

* * *

The Throne Room, an enormous, ornate rectangle, was the longest room in the Palace. There was an aisle from the main entrance down the middle of the room, and a plush red carpet led right up to the steps of the thrones. Cameramen moved on foot to get live video footage of the monarchs' arrival, and unmanned cameras hung from the tall vault ceilings, originally designed to resemble something from an ancient church or castle, to capture wider, more impressive angles. Somewhere in a control room, Gavril and his assistants were orchestrating the whole broadcast, cutting to footage from different cameras at different moments to make this long, slow walk up the aisle look as majestic as possible.

On either side of the plush, red aisle, the most important dignitaries in all of Illéa stood. Those with military backgrounds saluted as Maxon passed, and everyone else bowed. Elise was the only woman in attendance, America noted with disdain. Perhaps her next crusade would be ensuring representation for women and minorities amongst the ranks of these advisers, governors, magistrates, and honored guests. She could fit that in between education, child care, and raising her own family, right?

When they finally got to the steps leading up to the thrones, Maxon stopped and held his arm up, becoming a steady leaning post for America as she kicked her way around the cloak, so that it wouldn't get stuck under her shoes and trip her, and worked her way up the three steps to her throne. She stopped, turned and waited as Maxon climbed up to join her, standing before the slightly taller throne next to her. They were motionless as the music crescendoed and then ended.

America couldn't help but be distracted by the pressure of the baby in her body, as the national anthem began to swell around them. Now that her water was broken, the baby felt different in there. It was obvious, just from the low placement of the baby's head, that the only thing keeping it from being born right that second was that America wasn't fully dilated. If she magically dilated to a ten, right that second, the baby would have no trouble crowning and sliding out, not if the pressure America felt in her hips was any indication.

Just as Maxon had said, the anthem ended. As per protocol, the Queen took her seat first, then the King. The congregates remained standing, hands placed over their hearts as they began chanting the pledge to Illéa.

America had forgotten how uncomfortably her throne was, or maybe she'd never really noticed before. It was hard, un-cushioned, and straight backed. The philosophy behind it was that a throne wasn't supposed to be a comfortable place, a monarch should never be too comfortable but rather suffer under the burden of his or her position. America tried to keep her face impassive as her body ached under the cloak and crown, perched stiffly in the unforgiving chair. She was definitely suffering under the burden of her position now.

The pledge to Illéa finished, just as America's next contraction seized her body. She gripped the ornate knobs of her throne and stared blankly ahead, carefully breathing and trying to keep her face as neutral as possible. In front of her, the congregates were kneeling down, the older ones receiving assistance from their younger neighbors, until everyone was finally in the correct position. America felt like she was being smothered by her robe, boiling under the television lights as her stomach contracted and the men began their next chant, swearing loyalty to Maxon. For the first time, the pain was bad enough to trigger nausea. America didn't know why it had never occurred to her that she might vomit all over the throne on live, national television. She supposed she'd been too concerned about birthing a baby there, instead, and once it became clear that that wasn't going to happen, she hadn't considered much else.

To help regulate her breathing, and give her something to think about other than pain, America mouthed the words to the chant, though of course she did not kneel. She hoped that the congregates would merely assume that Maxon didn't want her kneeling down for him in her condition, and not that their future Heir was currently trying to burst its way out of their Queen's body. No one batted an eye that she wasn't on the floor with them, like she normally would have been, so she assumed her scheme was working. The nausea lingered, but did not get worse, and America suspected it was linked to the stifling heat. She'd be better soon. She'd be fine.

Just when she thought the contraction was ending, lessening, it unexpectedly spiked in intensity. America barely choked back a cry of anguish, but luckily, the congregates were in the process of noisily standing up and taking their seats. No one but Maxon noticed her struggling, and though he was desperate to ease her pain, there was nothing Maxon could do.

The music heralding Stavros' ascent to the podium began to play, and the cameras pointed at the King and Queen shifted position to focus, instead, on Stavros. Finally free, Maxon leapt from his seat and knelt in front of America.

"Let's go." he whispered.

America shook her head and closed her eyes, still trying to keep her face blank for the benefit of the congregates who might glance over at her, curiously.

Maxon nodded his understanding, that she was still working her way through this contraction, and he said, "We only have a few minutes. The moment you can stand, I need you to come with me out the side entrance. You did it, Ames. You're done." he breathed.

It was like his words, and the relief they brought, somehow communicated directly to her abdomen, because that was the moment her stomach began to unclench. America gathered her wits, and looked up to meet his eyes, "I'm done." she agreed. She couldn't have lasted another contraction up on that throne, even if she'd needed to. She'd underestimated how taxing the ceremony would have been, even if she hadn't been entering hard labor territory.

Maxon helped her up from the throne, as quietly as possible, and led her down the steps. A few congregates nodded to them as they passed, and they nodded back as they slipped out the side door, unseen by the cameras, the rest of Illéa, and the world.

The annex was drastically cooler and blissfully dimmer than the Throne Room had been, and full of loving, concerned faces. Marlee, Kenna, James, May, Gerad, Magda, and Mary all waited with baited breath to see how America was _really_ doing. Dr. Ashlar was there, too, and his expression was much harder to read.

Everyone, even Maxon, seemed to be waiting for America to say something. Unable to come up with anything more eloquent, she gasped, "Someone please get this thing off of me." she gestured to her cloak.

Every single person snapped into action, like she'd jolted them from sleep, but Mary got there, first, removing the clasps and pulling the thick fabric off of America's shoulders, peeling it away from her dress, and gathering the train into her arms.

America felt twenty pounds lighter, and she sighed with relief. She didn't wait for Mary's hands to become available, she unfastened the pins holding her crown to her head and pulled it off, handing it to Gerad, remembering that he'd feel better if he felt useful. "Help Mary get this stuff put away." America handed him the pins as well.

Gerad nodded and studied the crown in his hands closely. He'd never held it before, and his lips quirked into a little smile. "You have a cool job, Ames."

"Yeah, I do, but I'm glad I'm done with it for today." she rubbed her belly and turned to Maxon. "You need to get back in there."

"I know." he nodded. "It'll be a couple of hours before we're done."

"It's fine. We'll send a runner if I have to start pushing. You and Stavros worked out an escape plan for you, right?"

"We did." Maxon nodded. "But I'd rather it didn't come to that."

Dr. Ashlar nodded, "Far more likely, you'll just be missing two hours of steadily worsening contractions. America and the baby are safe and healthy, and I'll be with them."

"I wish I could be there for every heartbeat of every contraction, but I'm going to get this done for our girls." he said of their future daughters, one of whom might very well be on its way, as they spoke.

"Thank you." America smiled bracingly. "I love you."

"I love you, too." he glanced around the room, and the others awkwardly looked away to afford the King and Queen a moment to themselves. Maxon kissed her, long and gentle, pouring every ounce of devotion and love that he could manage into it. Finally, he pulled back and peppered her freckles with light kisses, ending with one on the tip of her nose. "Listen to Dr. Ashlar, and do what he says, for once."

"I will."

"Good. I'll see you soon." Maxon squeezed her hand once more, then turned around and slipped back into the Throne Room, before the cameras even noticed he was missing.

Dr. Ashlar was giving America a pointed look when she turned back to the others in the room, and America nodded, "I know."

"What's done is done, I won't bother lecturing you. You made your choice and I trust you've been made sufficiently sorry." he tried to sound superior, but he only sounded concerned.

"It was awful. I thought I was going to throw up all over that cloak." America shuddered. "The pain is getting worse."

"Hopefully, that means that you're dilating more quickly. Let's go and get you comfortable in your birthing suite." Dr. Ashlar nodded, and America knew she was forgiven for keeping her broken water a secret from him.

Marlee had one of America's arms and May had the other as they walked to the hospital wing. Now that her work was done, America appreciated that maybe this walk would help ease the rest of her labor.

"Where are the kids?" America asked, realizing that two small people were missing from the entourage.

"Carter has them, he's running them ragged in the tree house." Marlee smiled.

"They're going to sleep like babies tonight." Kenna added, appreciatively.

"Which will give us more time with the actual baby." Marlee said, excitedly.

May objected, "I get to hold it first, we already decided at breakfast."

"May—" Kenna reproached.

"Well, okay, Maxon and Ames are probably holding it _first_, but when they let the rest of us in, I'm first. Mom's second. Ken's third."

"I'm okay with fourth." Marlee assured the Singer sisters. "Fourth sounds wonderful."

America smiled, thinking of her baby being passed, person to person, between all of the people who would love it most in this world. The happiness she felt was equal to the pain, maybe even surpassing it.

That being said, she did stagger to a halt in the middle of the hallway when the next contraction came. She tried to clamp her mouth closed, as she had before, but a little cry still slipped out as she squeezed her eyes shut, trying to somehow block out the agony.

"Oh, sweetie." Marlee rubbed her back and kissed her shoulder. "I know… I know…"

Dr. Ashlar studied America closely, "I had no idea they'd gotten so intense."

"Yep." America gritted her teeth, and immediately regretted her response. It had gained her nothing, and led to another cry escaping her throat.

Magda was the next voice she heart, "America, air is your best friend right now, you _have _to breathe. Remember those breathing exercises you practiced with Maxon?"

At the moment, America was wishing she'd practiced them more. It was hard to remember anything, with her brain screaming white hot pain. Luckily, Magda helped her remember, counting in and out and demonstrating the right way to breathe so that her jaw wouldn't clamp with tension. In fact, when Kenna reminded her to relax all of the muscles that she possibly could, tension flowed out of her body and the contraction seemed more manageable.

Marlee's voice added little praises like, "Good job," or, "You're doing great" which America thought was a little silly. She wasn't doing _anything_ but breathing, gasping, clutching at her stomach, and holding up the progress of the group on their way to the hospital wing. Still, after a few compliments, the words started to improve her mood. It was better than someone telling her she was doing a 'bad job' or that she was doing 'horribly'. It actually helped to hear that she wasn't disappointing anyone with her labor, as if that would really be possible.

Finally the pain receded and America looked up into the faces of the women around her, all of them with hands on her, physically and emotionally supporting her in one way or another. "Thank you." she rasped, strength trickling back into her body.

They each smiled in return and May pressed a kiss to America's cheek. "I'm so proud of you." May said, simply, before coaxing America to continue walking.

* * *

The birthing suite was beautiful, with soft lighting and off-white walls. There were fresh flowers on the hard surfaces, and the air conditioner was turned up high, causing pleasant little chill bumps to sprout on America's arms. It might have been the most serene room in the entire Palace, and America physically wilted in relief when she realized that she didn't have to leave this room until she was ready. Until the baby was born, and America was ready to be somewhere else.

Kenna took the hospital gown that a nurse was offering, and helped America change into the light, cotton fabric. Because of the stiffness of the gown, it hung straight down from her belly, causing America to look even larger than she was. "I feel like a house." America giggled, eyeing herself in the mirror.

"You _are _a house for that baby." Kenna reminded her. "But not for much longer."

Dr. Ashlar checked her for dilation and found that she had progressed to a seven. He was even more dismayed that she'd gone through with the ceremony, in light of this information. Dismayed, but also a little impressed.

There was a television in the Queen's birthing suite, and it was tuned to the legislative session. Maxon was announcing another piece of legislation he'd be signing that day, freeing up funding for grants to be awarded to enterprising entrepreneurs. America knew this meant that Maxon was about a quarter of the way through the session. He announced the laws, discussed what went into their design, praised the good that the law would do, and then signed it into action, with the congregates in the room as formal witnesses. Their names would all be written down in the record books, which was part of the allure of attending a formal session. They'd be interviewed later, too, so there was the draw of a bit of temporary fame, as well as the historical immortality involved. Add to that the thrill of getting to see the King and Queen in-person, and invitations to the formal legislative sessions were the most coveted pieces of paper in Illéa. Not that that mattered to America today.

The contractions were now each worse than the last, and the space between each one was shrinking. America was losing count, how many contractions? How long since the last one? Everything was bleeding together. She lay in the fetal position on her bed, listening to the soft sound of the television covering the events of the legislative session. Occasionally Dr. Ashlar would check her for dilation, reassure her that she was doing very well, and promise that she could have pain killers 'soon', not that time was behaving itself anymore. A minute felt like an hour, unless it was between contractions. Then it felt like a second.

America was so grateful to have her family there. They cheered her on, distracted her with stories or conversation, held her hand, wiped her brow; Marlee even fed her her very first ice chip.

When the pain got so bad that America couldn't lay still any longer, she pushed herself out of bed and paced the room, wishing she could pace right out of her body, wishing there was anywhere she could go to escape this agony for even a moment. She heard herself gasp, and realized that the pain had brought tears to her eyes for the first time.

Suddenly, a warm wall was enveloping itself around her, and James' voice was in her ear, counting and coaching her through her breaths, praising her and reminding her that it wouldn't be long now. That she was so strong, so brave, and perfectly capable. "You can do this." he said. "You're amazing, America, you can do this. Come on. Stay focused, you've got this."

He stood there and held her, even held her up when her knees gave out from under her, keeping her tight to his body when it became clear that, just because she couldn't stand didn't mean she was ready to go back to bed yet.

"You're so good at this." America whispered, the moment she was able.

James laughed and gently wiped America's tears away with his thumbs. "I've had practice."

"I'm tired." America frowned. Tired, but not like she needed sleep. Tired, like her body was done with this whole labor thing and wanted out.

"I know." James said soothingly. "You're going to be just fine, Ames." he promised, as she agreed to return to her bed.

This was the right thing to say, because the fatigue really was starting to worry America. She hadn't even started pushing yet, and already her body felt like it was giving out.

The contractions were coming fast now, every four minutes according to Dr. Ashlar. America was nearly eight centimeters dilated, after which Dr. Ashlar would administer some pain medication. He just needed her to tough it out a little longer. The injection he would be administering would last for two hours, so he needed her to be very close to fully-dilated before he gave it to her, so that it wouldn't wear off just in time for the most painful part. This made logical sense to America, so long as she was between contractions. When she was mid-contraction, nothing made sense and everything was a scream of agony, with a chorus of voices telling her to breathe, not understanding that it was impossible to breathe during this kind of torture.

In the middle of one of her contractions, America had somehow knelt down, leaning against the hospital bed like she was praying. She couldn't remember how she'd gotten there. She vaguely remembered Kenna coming over and brushing her back, soothingly. America had cried that she didn't want to be touched right then, and Kenna's sweet voice had reassured her that that was fine, that she was still nearby for support, that the monitor Dr. Ashlar had connected America to showed that the contraction was almost over.

Ashamed and contrite that she'd snapped at her sister so meanly, America began weeping, begging Kenna to come back, saying that she really did want to be touched. Kenna was still giggling, soothingly stroking America's back, when the contraction passed and America's wits returned to her. She let out a stream of curse words, amazed at the level of pain she'd just survived, and Kenna giggled harder, which made America laugh, too.

* * *

Just when Dr. Ashlar declared that America was ready for the injection, and left to make preparations, Gerad squeezed America's hand, which he'd been holding very bravely through the last contraction. They'd offered to let him go play with Astra and Kile, but he refused. He really wanted to be with his sister, to help her however he could, and though America couldn't see herself letting him be here for the pushing, she also couldn't see herself refusing to let him hold her hand for a little while, if that's what he wanted to do.

"Ames." Gerad said, rousing her from her between-contraction stupor. "Maxon's adviser just announced that they were moving on to the last order of business."

"The amendment." America breathed, forcing herself to sit up so that she could see the television. James took initiative and turned up the volume so that they could all hear Maxon's speech.

"Before we close out the session today, I have one final order of business." Maxon's voice announced. He looked so handsome, so regal in his cloak and crown, standing before the congregates. "There is a piece of legislation that I have been working on all year long, carefully preparing alongside my wife, Queen America. Today, it is ready to be presented and signed, and just in time. I have sought out council from the greatest minds, not just in Illéa, but in all of the world, and have used their knowledge to carefully cultivate an amendment to the laws of inheritance. This amendment ushers in a golden age of equality and freedom for all of the citizens of Illéa, and has the effect of securing the position of Heir Apparent to the Throne of Illéa to my firstborn child. Not my firstborn son, but my firstborn _child_." Maxon's eyes scanned the room, and America could see the gears shifting in his mind. He was about to go off-script. "What many of you do not know, is that Queen America is currently in labor with that child. You'll notice, she was unable to remain by my side today." Gavril cut to a shot of the congregates stunned faces, the air in the room around Maxon turning electric with anticipation. "I expect to have a prince or princess to announce to all of you by the end of the night. Don't worry, I'm going to join Queen America in a few minutes, but before she left, she asked me to see to it that this amendment is signed before God, the congregation, and all of Illéa. So it shall be. I sign the equality amendment to the laws of inheritance on this day, the Eleventh of December, in honor of my wife, Queen America of Illéa, and the baby she is laboring to deliver. Your future king or queen. Long may he, or she, reign."

Maxon picked up the elegant wooden fountain pen, uncapped it, and signed his name before re-capping the pen and turning to face the congregation. He had an enormous, boyish grin on his face as the orchestra heralded the end of the session. He left via the side door, instead of taking the usual long walk down the aisle and out the main door. Stavros' voice was captured on the microphone saying jovially, "Usually his Majesty would be more than happy to shake each of your hands, but given the circumstances—"

And several of the men laughed and cheered Maxon's mad dash to the hospital wing. The nation had something exciting to talk about for the next few hours. The birth of a future monarch was not an everyday occurrence.

America went into the next contraction with a tiny smile on her face, though it faded away. The amendment was signed. It was law. There was no going back, not that anyone would ever want them to. Her daughters would not be traded to New Asia or the German Federation or _anywhere_. They'd be able to choose their own destinies, love in their own ways, at their own discretion, and be looked upon as the equals of their brothers, not as second class royals—

Her thoughts sharply cut off as the pain squeezed her even tighter in its grasp.

This contraction seemed to be lasting longer than the others, but it might have simply been the most painful yet, and so time seemed to be dragging by. Or possibly both. As the pain began to ebb, she became aware of a panting, sweating warm body spooned around her in the hospital bed. She smiled weakly.

"Maxon."

"God, look at you, Ames. You're so strong, I'm absolutely stunned."

America tried to giggle, but couldn't tell if she achieved the effect. "We did it."

"Yes we did. It's signed and sealed… well, Stavros is stamping the royal seal on it now, at any rate. It's official. How are you?"

"Um…" America didn't know how to respond to that.

"Right." Maxon looked her up and down. "Never mind. Stupid question."

"You're sweaty." America brushed a finger over his brow. It came away damp.

"The cloak." Maxon explained. "And I ran here. Sprinted, really."

"Catch your breath, have some water." America smiled. "We have a couple of minutes until the next one."

While Maxon got settled in, Dr. Ashlar and a nurse wheeled in a tray with a large needle on it. When the doctor was ready with the injection, Maxon took off his jacket, rolled up his shirtsleeves, and helped America sit up.

America smiled at the sight of her amazing husband, rubbing her hands through his hair to muss it up properly, and then winced as another contraction hit her.

"God." She hissed through gritted teeth.

"Take my hand, Love." Maxon encouraged, "Squeeze as hard as you like."

Dr. Ashlar waited until the contraction was over, which took some time. "How is it?" Dr. Ashlar asked. "Stronger?"

"_Really_ bad." America cried.

Maxon pressed his forehead to hers and whispered 'I love you' and other endearments, holding her hand and stroking her cheek until she could see again. She'd kept her eyes open during that one, but the pain had caused sparks to explode in her vision and everything had blurred together.

"I can't keep doing this." America lolled her forehead over onto Maxon's shoulder.

"It's alright, America, you'll be feeling much better after this." Dr. Ashlar reassured her. "Are you ready for the injection?"

"It'll last? It'll last until the end?"

"You're nine centimeters dilated, I expect another half hour until you're fully ten centimeters." Dr. Ashlar said, warmth in his tone as he explained what was happening to her. "An hour and a half of pushing should be plenty to get this baby out."

America nodded her understanding, and Dr. Ashlar wiped a small section of her spine with disinfectant. "This is going to sting badly, I want you to use Maxon to help you get through. Breathe with him, focus on him, and you'll be fully numb in just a few seconds."

He was not exaggerating when he said it would sting. America swallowed any cries, but she wasn't fooling Maxon with her brave face. He talked her through the stabbing, fire that overtook her spine, and the uncomfortable beginnings of the numbness that crept up from her toes to her hips. It was like she was being filled with sand, but once the numbness was spread, her whole body relaxed.

"How's that?" Dr. Ashlar asked. "Better?"

America nodded, still adjusting to the sensation.

"What do you feel?" Dr. Ashlar continued.

"…Nothing." America whispered.

"Good. That's good." Dr. Ashlar removed the needle and helped Maxon ease America into a comfortable laying position. She no longer had control over her legs, so they gently adjusted them for her. Maxon remarked that her feet were freezing and adorably asked if she wanted a pair of socks.

"Maybe later." She mumbled in reply. "Can't feel it right now."

Maxon still took care to bundle her feet up in the blankets.

The injection made America feel loopy, especially at first. It was hard to keep with the thread of the conversations happening around her. Maxon kept her wrapped safely in his arms, occasionally kissing her cheek and saying, "Do you feel that?"

"Your kiss?"

"No, your contraction." He'd chuckle.

America would shake her head. She couldn't feel them. She felt pressure, enormous mounting, uncomfortable pressure, but not the sharp, stabbing pains.

Dr. Ashlar checked her often, but she seemed to be stalling out at nine centimeters. His estimate of thirty minutes came and went, and still, America's body wasn't ready to deliver the baby.

The haziness began to wear off, and America's wits returned to her. "Is it bad? That I haven't dilated that last centimeter?" America asked, nervously. "I've been in labor for…"

"Nearly seventeen hours." Maxon said.

"Don't worry." Kenna reassured her. "The last centimeter is the hardest one."

"Yeah. I'm getting that." America said, as she felt the enormous pelvic pressure of another contraction and took a deep breath in and out. "I need to have this baby soon. I feel like my hips are going to collapse in on themselves."

"Lots of pressure?" Marlee asked.

"Mhmm."

"It's helping you dilate." Marlee reminded her, not that she needed reminding. Maxon gently stroked the hand he was holding and praised her, and then Magda, Kenna, and May started humming for her, Shalom Singer's song. Though she cried through the whole thing, it was the happiest of tears, because while that song was being hummed, she could feel her father's presence in the room with her. She knew how proud he would be, she remembered all of the strength he'd seen in her when he'd been alive. She found that strength in herself just in time. Fifty minutes after administering the injection of pain killer, Dr. Ashlar announced that America was fully dilated. It was time to start pushing.

* * *

America wanted this part, this difficult, gritty part, to be just between Maxon and herself. She'd be happy to let her family into the room for the birth of her other children, but for this first one, when she was learning about herself, her body, and the process in general, she wanted a little bit more privacy. She also wanted the special bond that having Maxon as her only coach would create between herself and her husband for the duration of her labor.

Her family each gave her cheek kisses and well-wishes, and Marlee spared a cheek kiss for Maxon, too. And then she was alone in the room with Maxon and Dr. Ashlar, along with the nurse who had helped America through her panic attack after the explosion in the Great Room. Nurse Catherine was a sight for sore eyes, and a welcome addition to the team.

"Alright, America." Dr. Ashlar said, "We're going to prop your legs up, and lets adjust the angle of your bed." As he spoke, Catherine worked, raising the bed so that America was in a slightly more upright position. "Maxon, hold that leg steady, will you?" Dr. Ashlar said, and Maxon mimicked the way Nurse Catherine was now holding America's other leg. It was amazing, really, America couldn't feel them touching her at all. "Okay, America, how are you feeling?"

"Nervous."

"That's alright, that's natural, but I'd like to remind you that you're safe and everything is fine. This is going to be simple. When you feel the pressure of a contraction, bear down. Push the baby as hard as you can, alright? Maxon is going to count for you, he'll be your breathing coach. Stay with him, alright?"

"Mhmm."

"Okay, there's a contraction coming." Dr. Ashlar said, studying the monitor at America's bedside. "Do you feel it?"

"Oh, yeah." This was already the strongest one yet.

"Alright, deep, cleansing breath, and push."

It didn't take long for America to lose count of the pushes. Maxon was the only solid, steady thing in the world, as he held her hand and counted slowly, reminded her to breathe, and kissed her forehead. He'd wipe her brow with a cool rag, feed her a chip of ice, and then they'd start all over again as another contraction waved over her.

"God!" America swore, collapsing back against the bed, as another in an endless ocean of contractions passed over her.

"You're doing great, Ames." Maxon reassured her.

"How long has it been?"

"Don't worry about that." Dr. Ashlar said. "You're doing just fine."

"It's taking too long, is the baby okay?"

"The baby is _fine, _its heart rate is perfect. This is your first time, it's taking a little longer, that's normal."

There wasn't time to continue the discussion. Another contraction was already clamping down.

Dr. Ashlar might not have wanted to tell her how long it was taking, but she knew when they passed the one hour mark. She was sweaty, her face splotchy and red, she was physically exhausted, and she was suddenly able to feel her toes.

"It's wearing off." She gasped between contractions. "I can feel it."

"It hurts?" Maxon asked, sympathetically agonized.

"Worse than getting shot." she moaned.

Maxon couldn't help but smile a little, thinking back to the night Anne had given America those unofficial stitches. "We got you drunk so you wouldn't have to feel the worst of it, Ames."

"You could get me drunk now, it might help." America joked, weakly, with what felt like the last of her energy, and Maxon let out a loud laugh before kissing her cheek. It was worth it to hear him laugh, but America could hardly hold her head upright any longer, let alone push. "I feel it." she whimpered, another contraction coming fast.

"That's alright." Dr. Ashlar promised her. "You're nearly there. I can see the head, America, just give me another good push and it'll be crowning."

America learned that Dr. Ashlar really shouldn't quit his day job to become a prophet. _Five_ long, hard pushes later, and the baby still wasn't crowning. The pain was worse than ever, along with the unspeakable pressure. "I can't do this. I _can__'__t_."

"Yes, you can." Maxon said, fiercely. She was grateful he didn't bother reminding her that she didn't have a choice. "You _can_ do this."

"This is the part where women die!" America moaned, another stomach shattering contraction washing over her, threatening to drown her.

"This is _not _the part where women die." Dr. Ashlar said, calmly. "Push, America. Push as hard as you can. Maxon widen her leg just a little bit. There we go. Push, push, push, push…"

America felt it before Dr. Ashlar said a word. She felt the baby's head slide into position, felt the stretching of her skin. "It's crowning." Dr. Ashlar grinned, "We're nearly done."

"Oh, God, God, God—"

"I know, Ames, but don't take it out on God, we don't need any enemies right now." Maxon winked, and America laughed weakly. "Take it out on me. Squeeze my hand."

"I don't want to hurt you!"

"How dare you?" he joked, wiping her brow with a cool cloth. "I am a very tough, very strong man. Squeeze my damn hand, America."

"_Fine_." That was all she could say before gritting her teeth and pushing down with all her might, clutching Maxon's hand for dear life.

"Breathe…" Maxon's voice cooed in her ear, and she remembered to exhale and inhale again.

"Excellent job, America!" Dr. Ashlar said. "Push again, now. Right now."

America did, and felt tearing where there had been stretching. America gasped, and then sobbed in agony.

"That was the nose." Dr. Ashlar said, "That was the hardest part. Look, your baby's head is out!"

Maxon looked down, excitedly, and had his own sob. His was joy, rather than agony, but it blended right into America's cry as the next contraction hit her. The injection was definitely gone now, not that it mattered.

"Push as hard as you can. Harder, harder, _harder_—" Dr. Ashlar coached. "Breathe and try again, we need to get those shoulders out. This is it, America, you can do it."

America took a steadying breath, and looked Maxon straight in the eyes. He had her knee in one hand, and was squeezing her hand with the other. "Come on, Love. One more push." he begged.

America felt her last contraction wrack her whole body, but she didn't close her eyes. She kept them locked with Maxon's as he urged her to breathe and push and swore that she could do it. The words blended together and then faded away in the wake of the unbearable pain, but the look in his eyes kept her grounded.

She knew she was crying out, but she couldn't stop herself, didn't have it left in her to try.

At first, she didn't even realize that hers were not the only cries anymore. Just as the last contraction passed, her screams were joined by another. A baby's precious, first breath of air being exhaled as the most beautiful sound America had ever heard in her life.


	55. Epilogue

"He's so beautiful." America murmured softly, peeking down at the sleeping baby on her bare chest. His little body, clad in nothing but a tiny, newborn sized diaper, was cocooned in a pile of soft, thick blankets with her. They both needed extra warmth, and it was a precious moment of mother-baby bonding time, with them swaddled tightly together. He wasn't even an hour old, and still adjusting to the cold outside of America's body, but with his ear pressed to her chest, listening to the soothing, familiar heartbeat he'd known all of his existence, he was more than content.

As for America, her body was in still in shock, medically speaking, from giving birth. Without the blankets she felt far too cold, and even with the blankets there were tiny tremors shaking her body. The baby didn't seem to mind the trembling, though, and neither did she. She was too much in heaven.

Maxon lay on top of the blankets next to them, with his arm around America, cradling her. She needed the extra help staying upright. Even with her bed leant upwards like a chair, her whole body was exhausted and she was prone to wilting.

"He's _perfect_. Look at his little nose!" Maxon gloated in a hushed tone. "It has all the detail of a regular nose, but it's tiny. I swear, it's the most exquisite thing I've ever seen, that nose."

As soon as Maxon cut the cord, the nurse had given the baby a quick, gentle cleaning with a soft, warm washrag. Dr. Ashlar tended to America, and then traded with the nurse so that America could have a turn getting cleaned up, and the baby could be officially weighed and measured for the birth certificate. The nurse had unsnapped the sides America's hospital gown and removed it to be laundered, while Dr. Ashlar diapered the baby and then laid him on America's chest, skin to skin, heart to heart, before bundling them in and then clearing out of the room to allow the King and Queen time alone with their little prince.

It had all happened so quickly. For hours, Maxon had been coaching America through labor. It was especially hard on her, with her history of panic attacks, to remember to do basic things like breathe. He'd held her hand and wiped her brow and it felt like an eternity of watching her suffer horrifically. And then, just like that, the baby was born, the doctor and nurse stepped out, and it was just the three of them. He could have a hundred children and never get used to how fast it happened, once it finally happened.

Maxon gazed, still disbelieving, down at the already sleeping baby. He could not, for the life of him, figure out what he had ever done in his lifetime to deserve something so wonderful.

America giggled at her awestruck husband, and then let the silence float between them like a cloud. Finally she sighed, completely content, and said, "I can't believe he fell asleep so quickly."

It was true, their son had hardly cried at all once he'd gotten his first few breaths out. It appeared that he'd liked the warm washcloth bath, because the moment the cloth touched his skin, he'd stopped wailing and kept his displeasure down to a few discontented sounds and scrunched up expressions. And as soon as he was placed on America's chest, where he could hear her heartbeat and the familiar sounds of her voice mingled with Maxon's, as they spoke back and forth, he fell absolutely silent.

"He's been bewitched by his mother." Maxon smiled, "It's understandable, you _are_ absolutely entrancing, my love."

"I can feel his little breaths against my skin. He's _breathing,_ Maxon." America grinned. It was all the little things about this baby that were impressing her. She'd held him safely in her body while his lungs had formed, and now he was out and breathing perfectly. She didn't know how to pretend that it wasn't fantastic.

Maxon sniffled heavily, tears flooding his eyes for the millionth time that day. "I know you've banned me from more photographs—"

"_No_, Maxon."

"But this is such precious moment, Ames!"

"No more pictures until Mary gets here with my clothes."

"Fine." Maxon pouted. "I suppose fifty is enough."

"Fifty pictures of a half-hour old baby _is_ enough, Max."

"Has it already been half an hour?" Maxon muttered, and distracted himself from the instinct to take even more pictures by offering his sleeping baby a finger to hold. Automatically, the baby's fingers clasped around it. "You're so strong, little one." Maxon cooed. "Just like your mother."

America smiled up at him, and studied his face until he noticed her gaze and met it. "Thank you, Maxon. You were wonderful today."

Maxon smiled and kissed her gently. "Not a bit as impressive as you are, but I tried my best. You are _so strong_, Love. I can't even comprehend how you stayed so strong."

"I just had to. For him." America said, working her hand up through the tight blankets until she could place it on the baby's back, and then brushing soothing fingers along his soft skin, up and down in a little massage. He looked extra small, with just his little head poking up above the blanket line that kept America covered. He yawned widely, and America giggled gently, feeling his perfect little lips stretch out and then come together again while brushing her skin. The baby fell still as he drifted back to sleep.

A tear leaked out of the corner of America's eye. "Look at your son. _Our_ son. Look at our son, Maxon… we have a baby _boy_."

With no words big enough to hold all of his joy, Maxon turned to America and kissed her again. "I'm in complete awe of you, do you know that?"

"I do." He'd made it clear enough, not just for the last half hour since the baby had been born, but also all during her labor, not to mention the entirety of her pregnancy. "And I'm glad." America smiled, meeting Maxon's gaze and finding a deep, meaningful connection there. Impossibly, their bond as husband and wife, best friends, and lovers was even stronger now than it had been an hour ago. They shared a common miracle, this baby boy.

"I love you, America."

"I love you, too, Maxon."

Maxon nuzzled his cheek to the top of America's head and studied his son's peaceful features. "So, if memory serves, Dr. Ashlar will be telling the family right about now."

"You could run out there and tell them." America said. "They're right down the hall, and I'm sure they'd love to see you."

"I could, but I don't think I will. There's no place on earth I'd rather be right now." he seemed to settle even farther into the mattress, as if to demonstrate how happy he was to stay put. "We get the next half hour all to ourselves while you do this skin-to-skin, mother/baby, hormonal bonding thing—"

"You sound jealous, Max." America chuckled.

"I am, but I'll just have to wait my turn." Maxon kissed her forehead tenderly. "You earned this first hour of contact. I'll take him for the next hour, after you feed him, and let you sleep."

"That sounds perfect." America nearly moaned at the tempting prospect of sleep.

"Anyway, I figured that once he's fed and you're tucked in for a nap, that's when I'll take him out to the family and pass him around a little." Maxon freed his finger from the baby's clutches and used it to brush the drying tendrils of America's hair away from her face. Most of it was still gathered in a high, loose ponytail, but the bits that had fallen down in sweaty clumps during the exertion of labor had now captured Maxon's attention.

America didn't know what to say, but as Maxon continued to brush her hair in a gentle, lulling rhythm, she yawned widely and snuggled into the arm he had wrapped around her. "Don't let me fall asleep until bonding time is over." she begged, fighting to keep her eyes open.

"I'll try, Love, but you deserve some rest, and sleeping will help your body heal. You can have bonding time anytime you want it."

"But the post-birth hormones…"

"I don't think you'll be rejecting this one and kicking it out of the nest anytime soon." Maxon chuckled. "But if it helps you feel better, we'll keep talking."

"Mhmm."

"Dr. Ashlar will be posting the press announcement on the Palace steps any minute now, as soon as he finishes with the family."

"'On this day', and so on and so on?" America asked.

"Exactly. 'Queen America Singer Schreave was delivered of a healthy baby boy', and then our new son's little measurements. Eight pounds, one ounce, twenty inches long. Perfect."

"It'll say _perfect_?" America teased.

"It will if I tell them to write it." Maxon grinned. "Or maybe I'll go out there to the Palace steps, once the announcement is posted, and add the 'perfect' with a marker, myself."

America giggled, "You should."

Maxon kissed her cheek and then her nose, he simply couldn't get enough of kissing her or that baby at the moment. "That reminds me. When I take him out to visit with the family, I'd like to give Gavril a time estimate for our appearance on the Palace steps tomorrow."

"Oh, right."

"Do you have any strong preferences?"

"_After_ breakfast." America said. "And I'll need plenty of time to get to the other side of the Palace."

"I can get you down the stairs, Love, and they'll have a chair to wheel you around as much as you need it."

"Alright. 9:30? I'd say 9:00, but I know I'll be sore and slow-going in the morning."

"Perfect. And anyway, it's not as if all of the photographers will leave if we're running late. We have a new baby to worry about, and we're doing them a big favor by letting them see him before his christening."

"You're right." America demurred easily. "At which point we _will_ need to have settled on a name."

Maxon chuckled, "The time for indecisiveness has passed, hasn't it? This beautiful little fellow deserves a name."

"I think I'll be calling him 'beautiful baby boy' for the rest of his life, but he might prefer something else for the rest of the world." she agreed, and then pressed what felt like the thousandth kiss to her newborn baby's head, where downy, dark blonde curls already sprouted from his scalp.

"Maxon junior." Maxon joked, laughing at himself.

"Astra 2." America added, and they both grinned at their old, favorite little joke.

When their smiles melted down from the wide spread of mirth to the gentle tilt of loving affection, as they stared down at their new creation, Maxon spoke again, this time with all seriousness. "'Jameson' is still my favorite, from our boy list."

"_Jameson_." America tasted it, letting it fill her mouth with its sweet warmth. She studied her baby's sleeping face and tried it again. "Jameson Schreave." She and Maxon looked at each other at exactly the same moment and smiled happily.

"It's perfect for him." Maxon managed, through a wave of fresh tears.

"Jamesy." America grinned. "God, Maxon, after all of the terrible mistakes and horrible messes we've made in our lives, how did you and I ever manage to make something so breathtakingly perfect?"

"He takes after you."

America laughed, "Right. I negotiated an illegal arms deal between a foreign country who was not our ally at the time, and a group of rebel insurgents. And we weren't even married, yet."

Maxon laughed and argued, "But you did it _perfectly_."

"You fell in love with another girl because she was the only one who showed any gratitude for all of the wonderful things you did for us… Gosh, I wish I'd intercepted that thank-you card and tossed it in the fire before you saw it."

Maxon tucked his head into the crook of her neck, "How very Celeste Newsome of you, Love, I had no idea." he teased.

"Whereas, if I'd shown you the slightest concern or gratitude, Kriss never would have managed to distinguish herself in that way... Face it, Max. This baby is far too perfect to be related to me. Maybe I'm not the mother."

Maxon laughed again, this time pressing a firm kiss to her lips. "You've just survived a day of the most intense labor I've ever seen, I've had my eyes on that baby from the moment he was pulled out of you until right now, as he lays on your chest, and I'm telling you, _That__'__s_ your baby. He is all the best of you, and all the best of me. I see everything good that exists, in his little face. I see my mother, I see your father, I see it all in Jameson Schreave."

America grinned and pressed yet another kiss to her baby's head. She'd never, never get enough of that. "He deserves a middle name, too."

"Do you have anything in mind?"

"I'm not sure. Maybe one of the other names from the boy list? Or one of the names from the neutral list?"

"We could name him after Justin Illéa." Maxon suggested. America knew he felt a special kinship to the King, murdered before his time for having many of the same opinions on reform that Maxon had. "Jameson Justin Schreave?"

"That's nice." America considered. "But…"

"But my butler?" Maxon guessed.

"He's not just your butler! He and Mary are close family friends. And he's wonderful, I wouldn't have any problem with he and Jamesy sharing a name, I just thought I'd mention it."

"What about Spencer? He was another impressive Illéa, and the ancestor that links us to August and Georgia. Jameson Spencer Schreave?"

"No doubt the traditionalists would appreciate the gesture…" America frowned.

"No, no, no, my love." Maxon objected. "We're not making this decision based on what the people will think. We're doing what's right for our family."

"What about Ryder?" America suggested.

"Ryder? I don't remember that one."

"It's not from our list, it's from your book of names."

"I like it. Do you remember what it means?"

"It means 'Knight'."

Maxon chuckled, "He looks like a little knight, doesn't he?"

America didn't want to wake her tiny blanket buddy, so she swallowed the enormous laughter that bubbled in her throat. "Not at all. No one has ever looked less like a knight, but maybe someday."

"Yes. He'll grow up strong and brave—"

"Like his father."

"Like his _mother_." Maxon insisted.

America chuckled, "Like his Uncle Aspen, maybe."

Maxon made a face, "You have some nerve, woman. This is _my_ son."

"Yes, he is." America agreed, looking between Jameson and Maxon. "He looks just like you, Max."

"He's got the Schreave good looks, then?" Maxon joked.

"He certainly does."

"Jameson Ryder Schreave." Maxon swallowed thickly and brushed a thumb across Jamesy's forehead. "Our son."

"You know, James is going to die of happiness when we tell him the name." America warned. "Kenna might be upset at us for widowing her at such a young age, but she'll forgive us when we put this baby in her arms. Jameson Ryder Schreave." She spoke the name with a reverential tone, studying her sleeping baby's face. "It fits him perfectly, you know."

"I agree. I do believe we've _finally_ settled on a name."

"We've accomplished a lot for one day." America marveled, through a yawn.

"Yes, I'm quite proud of us." Maxon agreed. "But you are fading fast, my love. You need to rest before we do anything else."

"Oh, no, Maxon, one more thing." America begged.

"What is it?"

"Can you send someone to see where Kenna is with the kids?"

"Ah." Maxon smiled excitedly. "You want to introduce a certain little girl to our brand new baby boy?"

"I would love to, before I sleep."

"Yes." Maxon nodded eagerly. "Perhaps we could leave her napping with you, and I could take Jameson out to meet his family?"

"Yes, I want that. Please?" America begged.

"Of course." Maxon pressed another string of kisses to her lips, then gently slid out of bed, careful not to jostle America and their sleeping baby.

It couldn't have taken very long, and Maxon was only gone for a moment. He sent a runner with his message and then immediately returned to America's side. Still, she was already half asleep when she felt him gather her into his arms again, and she must have drifted off a little between then and when the knock came at the door.

America pried her heavy eyelids open to see Kenna, with a huge grin on her face, carrying the little redhead in on her hip.

"Hey, Mama." Kenna greeted America, her voice soft. "How are you feeling?"

"Much better now." America giggled.

Kenna looked expectantly between Maxon and America. "It's a boy." Maxon grinned, happily. "A son."

"Wow. Oh, gosh." Kenna's eyes welled with tears, and one slipped right out. "He's stunning."

"Isn't he?" America shared an ecstatic grin with her older sister.

"You look so worn out, Ames." Kenna tried to keep the tears from her voice, not wanting to frighten the small person in her arms. She instead tried to sound sympathetic, but it was all shrouded in utter joy.

"You could say that." America understated. She was tired so deeply, it seeped right into her bones. She had exhaustion instead of marrow, now.

"I've never seen anyone fight so hard." Maxon marveled. "She was _amazing_, Ken."

"I know she was." Kenna smiled, then she eyed the girl on her hip. "Ready to meet the baby?"

No reply. Just nervous staring at the lump on America's chest.

Maxon grinned and carefully shifted out from under America, then he opened his empty arms wide and said, "Come on, Adrienne. Come to Daddy."

At his prompting, the two year old lifted her little arms toward Maxon and waited as Kenna lowered her onto the bed and into Maxon's embrace.

"Hey, little bird." America smiled. Addy, arms around her father's neck, turned her head to look at her mother. "Did you have fun with Astra?"

Addy nodded, shyly.

Maxon pressed a tender kiss to the top of her head. "Look who Mommy is holding. It's your baby brother."

Addy considered this for a moment, and then curiosity got the better of her. She craned her little neck over to get a better look at the sleeping face resting on America's chest.

"What do you think, Birdy? Do you like him?" America asked.

Addy blinked, then shrugged.

Maxon chuckled, "Don't you remember the baby kicking your hand? And squirming when he heard your voice? He loves you very much."

Addy nodded, "…That my baby?"

America beamed, "Yes, this is your baby brother. Would you like to kiss his cheek?"

"… … … Yes, please." It was a long deliberation.

Maxon lifted Addy up and sat her next to America. "Lay down, baby bird." Maxon instructed. "And be very, very gentle."

Addy rolled onto her stomach and propped her head up on her little hands, now at eye level with her brother. "He is pretty." Addy allowed.

"I agree." America smiled.

Addy nodded, then slowly, carefully lowered her lips down to Jameson's cheek. She barely ghosted his skin before pulling away, afraid she'd hurt him.

"Ames." Maxon's voice was begging. "_Please_?"

America sighed, but knew she couldn't really deny him. "Fine. But only a few more."

"Thank you!" Maxon pulled his camera out of his pocket and turned it on in one motion. "Addy, baby, you can kiss your brother a little longer if you want to. You don't have to be scared." he encouraged as he set the camera to the specifications he was looking for.

As Addy went in for a second cheek kiss, Maxon started snapping away, eagerly.

When she heard the noise, Addy turned back and smiled, "Takin pictures, Daddy?"

"Yes, my love." Maxon grinned.

Addy struck an absurdly overdone pose, smiling and lacing her fingers together before bringing them up to rest on her right cheek.

America giggled, "Your father has taught you _too_ well, Adrienne."

Maxon lowered the camera and Addy returned her attention to the baby.

"What are you thinking, Addy?" America asked.

Addy studied Jameson for a moment. "His hair is not red."

"No, he has hair like Daddy, doesn't he?" America agreed.

Kenna stepped forward from the corner of the room, "Maxon, join them. I'll take a few of the four of you."

"Really?" Maxon's pure delight lit up the room. "Thank you, Kenna."

"Of course." Kenna beamed, taking the camera and waiting for Maxon to get comfortable. The first photo she took was staged, the three of them looking to the camera and smiling while Jameson slept obliviously. The rest of the pictures she took were candid.

"Did you and Astra have nap time, Addy?" Maxon asked.

Addy bit her lip, "No." she said, nervously. She didn't know what this news would mean for her, if she'd have to go back to her room and take a nap now that she'd been found out.

"Would you like to have nap time with Mommy? Mommy _really _needs a nap." Maxon offered.

"You do?" Addy asked, looking at America's face and noticing the exhaustion written there for the first time.

"Mhmm." America nodded. "I definitely need a nap before dinner."

Addy kissed her mother's cheek. "You sleepy?"

"Very sleepy." America confirmed.

"Well, baby girl?" Maxon asked. "Do you want to take your nap with Mommy today?"

"Yes, I will like that." Adrienne decided.

"Alright." Maxon grinned. "Go with Aunt Kenna and get cleaned up and ready for nap. Maybe put on your new night dress? When you come back, we'll bundle you in with Mommy, just like your baby brother is."

"Okay!" Adrienne smiled.

"How much time do you need?" Kenna asked, reading the real reason that Maxon was having Addy put on pajamas for nothing but a little nap.

America answered, "I still need to feed him. By the time I get him to latch on and drink a little milk, my skin-to-skin hour will be done. I'll be ready for her then."

Kenna nodded and glanced at the clock. "Alright, we'll be back in twenty minutes? If you need longer, we'll regale the rest of the family with stories of how beautiful that baby boy is."

"Perfect. Thank you, Kenna." America smiled.

"Just doing my job." Kenna winked.

Maxon brushed a hand through his daughter's strawberry red hair. "Want to help Mommy wake your brother up? He needs a snack."

"Okay, yes!" Addy smiled. "I can help."

"Thank you, you're such a good big sister." Maxon agreed. Addy had tried her best to be helpful to America all during the pregnancy, in the name of being a good big sister. She was constantly bringing things from across the room so America wouldn't have to get up, or offering to share her vegetables at dinner (not purely unselfish on her part). "Try giving him another kiss while I brush his forehead. We'll see if he wakes up from his nap."

America smiled from ear to ear as Maxon and Adrienne leant in close to hover over Jameson. Addy had confidence now as she pressed her lips to Jamesy's cheek, and Maxon mumbled soothingly as he stroked the tiny forehead lying on America's chest.

"Mommy, where are your dress?" Adrienne asked, noticing America's bare shoulders for the first time.

"It's hanging up in the closet." America nodded to the closet in the corner of the birthing suite.

"Oh." Addy moved to kiss America's shoulder, then back to her brother's face.

America tilted her chin all the way down as the blonde baby on her chest began to squirm against her. Maxon chuckled, watching his son yawn and scrunch up his face. "Hello, my son. Did you have a nice nap?"

"He is sleeping." Adrienne warned, studying the baby.

"No, he's awake, Birdy." Maxon said. "He isn't good at opening his eyes yet, and he hasn't learned yet that waking up means opening up your eyes, but he's awake and he can hear us."

"Oh, wow… Hello." Adrienne said, awed. "I am your Addy."

The baby continued to wiggle and began to open and close his mouth.

"He remembers your voice." America said to Addy. "I think he's glad you're here, my love."

The baby began to make frustrated sounds, and America sighed, "He's hungry." she met Maxon's eyes.

"Alright. Thank you for your help, Adrienne. Go with Aunt Kenna and get ready for nap time."

"I want to stay with my brother!"

"You like him?" Maxon asked, repeating the question from earlier.

Adrienne nodded her head, sincerely. "I like him a lot."

"Good. He'll be ready to see you again after his snack."

"Is he having cheese?" Addy asked, curiously. Cheese was one of her favorite foods, and had been since she'd graduated to eating solids, and America and Maxon liked to laugh about it because of all of the cheese and calcium cravings America had had whilst pregnant with Addy.

"No, Love, babies can only drink milk. Remember?" They'd talked at length with Adrienne about what to expect once the baby arrived, in the months leading up to this moment.

"Oh, yeah! Like Leo and Rogan?" she asked, of her twin younger cousins. Kenna and James' one-year-olds consumed a mixed diet of milk and solid foods, but Addy was always especially fascinated when Kenna handed the little boys their bottles of milk and called it lunch.

"Exactly. When the baby is bigger like you, then he can have cheese and other snacks. For now, milk will be very good for him." America explained.

Jameson began to cry in earnest, desperate for food.

"Okay." Maxon said, nodding to Kenna. "Mommy's going to feed him now while you go get changed, okay, baby girl?"

"Okay, Daddy."

"I love you, Adrienne." Maxon smiled, kissing her cheek. "Thank you for being a good girl while Mommy and I were here at the doctor's getting the baby out."

"You're welcome, Daddy." Addy smiled as Kenna came over and swept her into her arms.

"We'll be right back, okay?" Kenna said, looking at Maxon, America, and the wailing infant, but her words were for Adrienne.

"Okay, see you soon." Maxon waved.

A moment later, the door was closed behind them.

"That was _wonderful_." America smiled, as she negotiated the blankets around her to free herself and her baby.

Maxon leant the bed up a little higher and stacked a couple of spare pillows under America's arm as she coaxed the crying baby to drink.

When the crying stopped, it was immediate, no slow sloping off of sound like it had been after Jameson's birth. This time, the second he tasted milk, he was satisfied.

America shivered, her skin exposed to the cold.

"Oh, Love, we brought the new privacy blanket if you want it." Maxon said, reaching over the side of the bed and digging through the bag he'd brought with them over from their rooms.

"It's just us, I don't need it." America reasoned, shivering.

"You're freezing, Ames." Maxon's voice was all concerned. "Here. Jamesy might appreciate a little extra warmth, too."

America nodded and let Maxon cover them in the soft, warm fabric of the privacy blanket. She instantly felt better, and apparently so did Jameson because he stopped squirming so much in her arms and started focusing more on his milk, learning how to get it and what to do with it once he had it.

Maxon looked through the photos Kenna had taken of their little family as America hummed and stroked the baby's blonde hair, just barely poking out from the blanket. "I have to say, Ames, I don't know how it gets any better than this. I have the perfect family! A baby girl, a baby boy, and the most wonderful, most beautiful wife in the entire world."

America rolled her eyes, "Oh, yeah, I'm sure I look fantastic right now."

Maxon glanced up at her, seriously. "Feeding our brand new baby boy for the first time, still radiant from giving birth? Yes, you are heart stopping right now, Ames."

America blushed and dropped her eyes to study Jameson. "It's not called 'radiant', Maxon, it's called 'sweaty'… but thank you. I love you."

Maxon smiled, "I love you, too. More than I could ever say." He stretched out on the bed next to her and rested his head on her shoulder, peering down at lump that was his baby son under a warm blanket, feasting for the first time. "What do you think, Jamesy? Does that milk taste good? Keep eating and you'll grow big and strong like me."

"And Uncle Aspen." America teased again.

"And _me_." Maxon said, pointedly, and America giggled. Maxon laughed, too, and pressed a kiss to the bare spot above her shoulder where the blanket stopped. "I get to feed him next time, right?"

"If you have Mary fetch the pump from the nursery, I'll arrange a couple of bottles for you after I get some sleep." America nodded. "He has to eat every three hours, so you can take the next _two _shifts if you're lucky."

Maxon chuckled, "That _would _be lucky. Do you think I could do the diaper changes, too?"

"I _could_ be persuaded to let you change the diapers and handle the feedings while I sleep, but you'd have to make it worth my while." she joked.

"Do you hear this, Jameson? Do you hear what we have to put up with?" Maxon pretended to be outraged, all the while he was outrageously happy.

America winced as Jameson latched on extra hard, and then curled into the arm Maxon offered to wrap around her. "What do you think, Max?" America asked, sleepily, comforted from head to toe by her husband's embrace. "Is this what you had in mind when you asked me to marry you?"

Maxon pressed his lips to her hair and inhaled deeply. "It's everything I ever wanted, and all the things I didn't even know to ask for. 'Happily ever after' doesn't _begin_ to cover it, my love."

"I know what you mean." America smiled, tired, proud, and happy in equal, exorbitant measures. "'Happily ever after' is nothing compared to this."

"Our children are such a triumph, America." Maxon smiled. "You and I survived rebellions and corruption, and a king hellbent on keeping us apart. We're reforming an entire country, an entire society, and we're doing it together as partners. And these children… our little girl and our baby boy, are the physical manifestation of that partnership. How could I have foreseen anything so astonishingly jaw-dropping, so astounding, so amazing when I asked you to marry me?"

Yet again, America was brought to tears. The happiest, most joyous of tears. Maxon swept them away with his thumbs and then kissed her, gently. She yawned against his hands.

"Close your eyes, my love." Maxon suggested. "Rest. Hand over my son when he's done eating, and then get some sleep. I want you to be well-rested for tomorrow."

"Is tomorrow special?" America asked, curiously, allowing her heavy eyelids to droop closed.

"Of course it is." Maxon said, with false importance. "It's the first day of the rest of our own, unique non-happily ever after." he chuckled. "And it's the first full day of our baby prince's life. I want you to be well-rested so that you can enjoy every moment of it."

America sighed, stroking Jameson's little chest rhythmically, under the blanket. "Tell us a story?"

They had a tradition to uphold, with their baby's first stories, and Maxon was more than happy to comply. "Of course." he cleared his throat importantly. "Once upon a time, there was a lonely prince who lived in a beautiful palace at the edge of a wonderful, magical kingdom…"

"Oh." America blinked her eyes open and studied the lump of blankets as she adjusted Jameson. "Hang on, he might be done for now." she tried to get him to latch back on, but his mouth remained closed, obstinately. "Are you sure, baby boy? That wasn't much."

"He'll let us know when he gets hungry again." Maxon reasoned.

"If he's anything like his sister, you're absolutely right." America nodded. "Are you ready to hold him, Daddy?"

Maxon beamed and cleared his throat, fighting off a lump as he unbuttoned his shirt and slid it off. He draped a clean, terrycloth towel on his shoulder and said, "I'm ready if you are." he consulted the clock. "You still have another five minutes of skin-to-skin, if—"

"It's fine." America murmured, slipping the baby out from under the blanket but leaving it over herself. She was still cold. "Here you go, Max. You can keep telling him our story while he digests."

Maxon sobbed a little, taking the baby from America's arms, but the tears stayed in his eyes as he lifted little Jameson, careful to support his tiny head, up to eye level. "Hello, my boy. Hi. It's me, it's Daddy. I'm finally… I'm finally holding you."

Jameson blinked his dark, weak eyes at Maxon curiously and Maxon laughed. "My boy. My son…" Maxon took a steadying breath and grinned, meeting America's eyes. Then he cradled Jameson to his strong chest, resting him on the towel, and began patting his back gently. "Where was I? Oh, yes." Maxon cleared his throat and continued the story. "One day, the lonely prince's parents sent out invitations to all of the young maidens in the kingdom, asking them if they wanted to meet the Prince. One maiden from each part of the kingdom was chosen and invited to journey to the palace. The bravest, smartest, funniest, most talented, most beautiful of all was a girl from the far side of the kingdom, and the lonely prince was smitten with her, from the moment he laid eyes on her. She had the most beautiful red hair he had ever seen, and the most gorgeous blue eyes that sparkled when she was excited, or impassioned, or upset. The lonely prince was not nearly as lonely when she was around, and against his better judgement, for she was still heartbroken from another and did not know if she could love in the same way again, the now-not-so-lonely prince found himself falling for the red haired, blue eyed, heartbroken maiden…" Maxon paused and pressed a kiss to Jameson's head as Jameson let out the tiniest, most adorable little baby burp Maxon had ever heard. "There you go, little one." Maxon chuckled. "That should help things go easier on your stomach. Ames, did you hear that? Isn't he…" Maxon paused and looked over at his wife, whose breaths were deep and even. Her eyes were closed, her body slumped over, and she was fast asleep.

Maxon shuffled Jameson into one of his arms and then carefully stood up from the bed. He pressed the button and the mattress lowered slowly until it was flat. America didn't even stir.

"Look how tired Mommy is." Maxon whispered. "She worked _so_ hard so that you could come out today. We should let her rest." With his free hand, Maxon tugged the rest of the blankets up to America's chin, tucking her in, and then pressed a gentle kiss to her lips. "I love you, America." he said, softly. "Thank you so, so much for our son."

He stood, and took Jameson's baby blanket from the bassinet next to America's hospital bed. He swaddled Jameson tightly, pressed a kiss to the baby's forehead, and then turned off the lights in the birthing suite. Maxon could have stood there in the doorway, holding his baby and watching his wife sleep, for hours. He would have, too, except that little Addy would soon be on her way to join her mother in that nap, and the rest of the family were eagerly, anxiously awaiting their turns to meet baby Jamesy.

"I swear to you, Jameson, you will never be like the lonely prince." Maxon said, quietly, to the uncomprehending bundle in his arms. "But, if we're very lucky, your 'ever after' will be just as happy as his is. That's my wish for you, my son. All of my happiness and none of my sorrow. I'll work every single day of my life to give that to you, and to help you find it for yourself. I was the lonely prince, my father was the lonely prince, and the prince before my father was the loneliest of all. You're going to be Illéa's first _happy_ prince, my boy. You've broken the terrible cycle, and I'm _so_ glad." Maxon's voice broke and he paused, looking between the baby in his arms to his wife in the bed again. America had a little smile on her lips. Maxon couldn't tell if she was awake and listening, or simply dreaming about their beautiful family.

"Come on. There are some people down the hall who are _very_ excited to meet you." Maxon said, adjusting the baby in his arms and then quietly closing the door to the birthing suite behind him.


	56. Epilogue II (bonus epilogue)

_Just as the last contraction passed, her screams were joined by another. A baby_'_s precious, first breath of air being exhaled as the most beautiful sound America had ever heard in her life._

* * *

"Open your eyes, Ames." Maxon's smiling, tearful voice said from somewhere near her ear.

She was so overwhelmed, her body must have closed her eyes without her noticing, trying to block out some of the information overloading her brain.

America pried her eyes open and saw Dr. Ashlar, standing at the end of the bed, holding up a gooey, pink, squalling baby girl. "Oh my God…"

Dr. Ashlar saw the recognition on America's face, and he beamed back and forth between America and Maxon. "It's a _girl_. Congratulations, America, you have a daughter."

America sobbed, some mixture of joy and relief. Her muscles were unclenching, slowly relaxing, and she let herself collapse back onto the bed beneath her. "That's my baby?" She knew it was, it just seemed so impossible. A few seconds ago, she'd been drowning in an endless ocean of pain and heat, physically unable to get enough oxygen. Now, Dr. Ashlar was holding up a baby girl and telling America that she'd done it. She'd survived labor and given birth. She had a baby daughter to show for all of her troubles.

Maxon laughed, still gripping her hand for dear life. He lowered himself down and pressed a kiss to her lips, "It's a girl."

America laughed, tears leaking down her cheeks. "We have a girl."

"I'm a dad!" Maxon laughed loudly, wiping tears away from his own eyes and leaning up, looking at the doctor and nurse excitedly. "That's my daughter!"

Dr. Ashlar was growing misty-eyed, too, standing there, holding the brand new infant. He met Maxon's joyous laughter with some of his own. It was hitting the good doctor that he was currently holding his future queen, and he just couldn't contain his happiness. "Well, _Dad_, would you like to cut the cord?" Dr. Ashlar asked, using the moniker Maxon had just assigned himself.

"Yes, please!" Maxon rasped as awe overtook him, and he gently lowered America's knee to a resting position. He pressed a kiss to her hand before releasing it and setting it, just as gently, onto the mattress beside her. "Be right back." he promised.

America melted even farther into the mattress, watching Maxon accept a pair of shining silver medical scissors from Nurse Catherine.

"She's got a healthy set lungs, doesn't she?" Dr. Ashlar chuckled as the tiny baby continued to scream in his large hands.

Maxon pressed a kiss to the baby's forehead, their daughter's first kiss, and then held up the scissors. America focused on catching her breath and memorizing this moment as Nurse Catherine showed Maxon where to cut, and Maxon proudly cut the baby free from the cord still connecting her to her mother's body.

"Well done." Dr. Ashlar beamed at the young king, and then carefully handed the baby over to the nurse. "Nurse Catherine is going to get our young princess all cleaned up, over on the changing table." he explained.

"You can help me, if you'd like." Nurse Catherine smiled, leading the way. Maxon picked up the camera from the overnight bag he'd put together, to be brought to the birthing suite by Justin once America went into labor, and turned it on. America's heart was still hammering in her chest from the exertion of labor when Maxon clicked the first photograph of their baby girl.

"How are you feeling, America?" Dr. Ashlar asked, returning his attention to her.

"Fine." America's arms were shaking, but she lifted her hands to wipe away the tears on her cheeks anyway.

"She's _beautiful_." Dr. Ashlar grinned.

"I know. I've never…" America's voice trembled, and she tried again to explain. "I've never seen anything so beautiful in my entire life."

Dr. Ashlar chuckled and nodded his understanding, "You did very well, America. I'm so proud of you. I know it got especially difficult at the end, it always does, but you kept focused and you didn't give up. You should be really proud of yourself, too."

"Thank you. I am. I've never done anything this amazing before."

"You're going to have another soft, little contraction or two. Your body needs to expel the placenta, but it shouldn't be too painful. At worst, a pinching sensation, alright?"

"_Nothing_ is too painful compared to what I just went through, I'm not worried." America sniffed, tears still falling from her eyes, and Dr. Ashlar laughed in agreement.

Maxon had handed the camera off to Nurse Catherine now so that he could soothingly wipe the baby clean, using what looked like a soft, damp washcloth.

America kept her eyes glued to Maxon, the nurse, and the baby while Dr. Ashlar tended her. Just as Maxon finished giving the baby her first cleaning and brought her up to his chest to cradle, Dr. Ashlar disposed of the placenta and declared that America had very healthy vital stats. He joined Maxon and led him over to a table scale where the baby would be weighed and measured. Maxon got his camera ready, again.

Nurse Catherine had a new, clean washcloth and a smile on her face when she came over to America's bedside. "I saw your awe-inspiring inner-strength again today, your Majesty." She began gently wiping down America's thighs and legs. The cloth was warm and left a much-needed sensation of cleanliness everywhere it touched. "I saw it first when his Majesty was unconscious and you pulled yourself back from the brink of an anxiety attack. And I saw it again, today, as you pushed your way through those contractions."

"I had help both times." America reminded her, her voice soft compared to the cries of her baby. "You and Officer Weaver got me through the panic attack, and I'd have been lost without Maxon today."

"You did the brunt of the work both times. You must give yourself credit, your Majesty." Nurse Catherine reminded her with a smile, setting aside the used washcloth and picking up a fresh one. She gently rubbed down America's arms, chest, and neck. "How's that? Feeling better?"

"Much."

"Good." She gently lifted America's legs and then removed some absorbent paper that Dr. Ashlar had placed there, which had caught all of the blood and mess from the birth. America couldn't remember when the paper had been placed there, but she _had_ been completely numb and focused on breathing through the pressure of contractions for a while. It could have easily escaped her notice then.

Beneath that paper was the rest of the clean, soft sheet America was laying on. Nurse Catherine helped America move up in the bed so that she could stretch her legs out without her feet hanging off the end, and then began unsnapping America's hospital gown. The gown was attached with metal snaps where there would ordinarily have been seams, and this allowed the nurse to removed the sweaty, dirty garment without America having to get up and lift her arms to be undressed. Nurse Catherine tugged the hospital blanket up to cover America's chest. "Do you need anything else?"

"I'm sort of… cold." America confessed.

"Of course. That's normal, you're in shock." the nurse said, sympathetically.

That explained the shaking. Nurse Catherine crossed over to the linen closet and pulled out two thick, fluffy blankets. She cocooned the old blanket under America's sides, then added the new blankets on top.

"Thank you, that's much better." America sighed, already warmer but no less trembly.

"Congratulations, again." Nurse Catherine smiled, before gathering up all of the used washcloths and messy trash, and carrying it out of the now spotless room.

"Seven pounds, four ounces." Dr. Ashlar announced, intentionally loud enough so that America could hear him over the crying. "Eighteen inches long. She's little, but she's responsive. I'll be running lots of tests on her over the next few days, but for now, I have no reason not to declare her medically healthy."

Maxon let out a laugh that sounded almost like a holler of joy, setting aside his camera to cuddle his daughter again. "Healthy." He said the word like he'd never heard of anything so wonderful before.

Dr. Ashlar gently placed a hand on Maxon's shoulder, which caught America's attention. He'd known not to clap down, not to pat Maxon on the back. She wondered if the doctor had treated Maxon's wounds at some point in his childhood, before Maxon got his own box of medical supplies, or else maybe he'd come across the scars during some other type of examination. Either way, he somehow knew to avoid triggering those painful memories of Clarkson at a moment like this, as Maxon held his minutes-old daughter, and America was so grateful.

"Come. Let's put a diaper on that baby and get her to her mother." Dr. Ashlar grinned, and Maxon smiled over at him.

"You'll tell me how, won't you? I've never done this before." Maxon nervously wheezed a laugh as Dr. Ashlar led him back to the changing table and released his shoulder.

"It's not hard. Here. Can you tell which side is the front?" Dr. Ashlar held up one of the unspeakably tiny diapers and rotated it.

"Um… I think it's this one." Maxon nodded, since both of his hands were supporting his newborn.

"That's right." Dr. Ashlar nodded. "See? No problem. Just stretch it out, lay it down, and put your baby on it." He coached Maxon through the diapering with the air of a proud father. When they were done, Dr. Ashlar lifted the baby girl up and turned to America. "Now that he knows what he's doing, he can change all the diapers from here on out."

Maxon laughed and America smiled weakly and swallowed to clear the lump in her throat at the sight of her baby wearing its first little diaper. "The clean ones are the easy part, it's the dirty ones that are tricky." she said, drawing from her experience assisting her mother when Gerad had been in diapers.

"Well, we'll get him trained up soon enough, won't we?" Dr. Ashlar grinned between them. The baby was quieter now, but still fussing, making noises of discontent. "America, how are you feeling?" Dr. Ashlar asked.

"I… I don't know where to begin." she admitted, lamely. She was feeling everything. The better question would be, how _wasn__'__t _she feeling.

"Any outstanding pain, any dizziness?"

"No. Just shaking."

"That'll fade away soon." Dr. Ashlar smiled, coming back to America's bedside. Maxon seemed to sense what was about to happen and lifted his camera, readying it. "I'm going to place your daughter on your chest now, skin-to-skin. The next hour is your time with her, America. You and she will lay here, together, and she'll listen to your heartbeat and soak in your familiar warmth. You've both got post-birth hormones surging through you right now, and we're going to take advantage of those to give you some bonding time. They'll start to wear away in about an hour or so, and she'll be ready for feeding, and passing around to the rest of your eager family, but for now, she's _all _yours."

America gulped, nervous and eager and breathless and exhausted. She hadn't known that this would be happening, but she now fully-expected the next sixty minutes to be the best hour of her life. "Thank you."

Dr. Ashlar lowered the baby close enough that America could kiss her little cheek, then slipped the baby under the blankets. He took a moment to find the perfect position for the baby to rest, then tucked America and her infant in so that they'd stay nice and warm during this bonding hour. "Comfortable?"

America couldn't speak. She had her daughter, lying on her chest, wrapped up in her arms. She burst into tears again.

Dr. Ashlar smiled, sympathetically, and adjusted the hospital bed so that it was at the perfect angle. Not so high that America had to hold the baby up, but not so low that she had to tuck her chin all the way down just to see the top of the baby's head. "I'll be back in an hour to check in." Dr. Ashlar bowed to all three of them, and left.

Maxon was grinning behind his camera, but he finally lowered it and joined America on the edge of her bed. "Tissue?"

"Please." America nodded.

Maxon mopped up her face and wiped her nose, tossing the tissue into the waste bin and then stretching out on the bed beside her, lying on his side. The baby's little face was turned toward him.

"She's perfect."

"I know." America breathed. "I had no idea… I never knew I could love like this."

"I know what exactly you mean."

"It's amazing, isn't it? That humans have this… incredible capacity?"

"It's a wonder." Maxon agreed, then he paused, looking up. "Did you hear that?"

"What?" America was completely occupied by her baby.

"I think… I heard thunder." Maxon grinned, hurrying over to the window to see. Sure enough, he pulled back one of the thick curtains, and there were raindrops splashing hard against he window. "Ames, it's _raining._"

America made some mixture of a laugh and sob, all of it blissful. It had rained on the day she'd realized that she was in love with Maxon Schreave. Now it was raining for the birth of their baby, the physical culmination of that love. "It's perfect." America sobbed.

Maxon hurried back over to her bedside, smiling widely, joy radiating from his entire body. "Look at what you made, Ames."

"_We_ made."

"You did the hard part." Maxon chuckled. "I can't believe it. She's here, and she's stunning. Her skin is so soft and flawless, and look at that tiny nose!" Maxon smiled, and pressed a kiss to said tiny nose. "You did such a good job, Ames, you made a perfect baby on your first attempt!"

America laughed and gently stroked the baby's arm with her thumb. "Thank you, Maxon."

Their daughter was growing quieter now, listening to Maxon and America speak, and the soft sound of rain on the windows.

"I think she's soothed by our voices." Maxon smiled, gently massaging the baby's back with his hand.

"That's not what I remember. I distinctly remember a squirming, hyper baby whenever she heard your voice."

Maxon grinned down, memorizing the features of that brand new face, so like his own and like America's at the same time. "She needs to rest up a little, then she'll start dancing again whenever she hears me talking."

"Are you tired, little one?" America asked, speaking directly to her daughter for the first time. "Was being born hard work?"

As if responding to the question, the baby lazily yawned and scrunched up her little face. A moment later, she strained her eyelids open for the very first time.

Maxon and America both gasped, and Maxon moved closer, so that he was nose to nose with the baby. "Hello, my love. Hello. You've just opened your eyes, can you tell? Can you see me? I'm the colorful blob right in front of you, it's me. It's Daddy."

Exhausted from the effort, the baby's eyes drifted closed again.

America felt hot tears on her cheeks again. Maxon lifted his face to grin up at her.

"I just… I love that you were the first thing she ever saw." America said, simply.

Maxon beamed back at her, "Happy?"

"So happy." America nodded.

"Tired?"

America laughed, "So tired. But I don't want to sleep yet. I want to stay awake as long as I can, and be with her."

"Alright." Maxon agreed, settling back down. He brushed a finger across the baby's forehead, "You should cry some more, little love. You need to help keep Mommy awake."

America peered up at him, studying Maxon's face closely. When he met her gaze, she nodded her head a little to get him to lean in closer. Maxon eagerly obeyed, and when he was close enough, America gave him a long, subdued, lingering kiss.

"I'm so proud of you." Maxon remarked. "I'm so, _so _very proud."

"I love you, Maxon."

"I love you, America."

"I love you, baby girl." America smiled down at the infant on her chest.

"I love you, too, sweet baby girl." Maxon added, resisting the urge to take another photograph. He forced himself to stay close, to stay present, to preserve this special, precious moment with his girls for as long as he possibly could. He didn't leave the bed until the whole hour was up.

* * *

When Doctor Ashlar and Nurse Catherine returned at the end of the hour, America and the baby both got a quick checkup and were deemed perfectly healthy. As such, Nurse Catherine began coaching America in how to breastfeed the baby, and Maxon went out to join the rest of the family at dinner. He took his camera to show them all of the new pictures.

It took a little while for the baby to catch on to what was happening, but when she finally did latch on, feeding her was amazing. Strange and a little painful, yes, but absolutely amazing. America had never felt more powerful, more _sufficient_, than she was feeling that day. She was enough to bring a brand new life into this world, and she was enough to sustain it until it could eat for itself. She was enough. It was a joyous discovery to make.

The baby didn't eat much, and Nurse Catherine explained that there would probably need to be another feeding again, soon, as the baby got more and more used to milk. Then she showed America how to keep air bubbles from causing gastrointestinal pain in the baby by patting her little back gently. America cuddled her baby daughter, patting her back, until she heard a tiny burp.

America giggled, "Silvia will have you broken of that habit very quickly, my princess. Your Uncle Gerad will be proud, though…"

Maxon poked his head through the door, grinning from ear to ear. "How did she do?"

"Her appetite is still developing." Nurse Catherine stood and curtseyed. "If you need help when you feed her again, feel free to send for me, your Majesty."

"Thank you, Cat, I will." America smiled, and Nurse Catherine excused herself.

"Well? Do you think she's ready for visitors?" Maxon asked, eagerly.

"I think so." America said, pressing a kiss to the top of her daughter's head. "Swaddle her up and then you can take her out."

"You wouldn't rather your family come in here?" Maxon asked.

"I'm… naked under these blankets." America shivered.

"Yes, I know." Maxon grinned appreciatively. Then he sobered up and took the baby from her, "How are you feeling?"

"Just tired."

"If you were dressed, would you feel up for visitors?"

"So long as they don't mind my falling asleep in the middle of their visit."

"Good. Perfect. Because there's someone out in the hall who is waiting to see you. I asked her here first."

"Who is it?" America asked, looking between Maxon and the door.

"You can come in!" Maxon called, and the baby squawked in disapproval before settling back down, instantly.

The door to America's maternity suite opened and Mary stood, nervously, in the doorway. She had several garments on her arm, and was pushing a cart full of the most delicious-smelling food America had ever had the pleasure of scenting.

"Your Majesty." Mary beamed, curtseying just barely.

"Mary!" America opened her arms wide and Mary came rushing over, setting aside the clothes and leaving the food behind.

"How are you?" Mary asked, as she squeezed America gently.

"Fine. I'm fine."

"I'm so proud of you." Mary sniffled, pulling back to look America over. "You were so strong! I've never seen determination like that."

America smiled, "I was fighting for someone pretty special." She nodded toward Maxon's arms, and Maxon came over, lowering the baby from his chest so that Mary could get a good look.

"Oh, hello! Hello, little one." Mary cried, softly. "You are so beautiful…"

"Perhaps you could help me swaddle her?" Maxon asked. "I've never done this before, and I don't want her freezing, now that she's away from her mother's warm skin."

Mary wiped her face and laughed, happily, "It would be such an honor. Of course, I'll show you how to wrap this baby up perfectly."

"Excellent." Maxon beamed. "And while you teach me, Ames will dig in." he left the baby in Mary's amazed and loving embrace, and pushed the food closer to America. "Dr. Ashlar says that if you're ready to eat, you should go for it."

"Oh, I'm ready." America nodded, eagerly. "I'm somehow even _hungrier_ than I was when I was pregnant. I think it's because of the breastfeeding."

"And the giving birth to the Illéan heir." Maxon nodded, wisely. "And the contractions being so bad, you had to skip lunch."

"Mmm." America nodded, grimly.

"There's salad, there's lean cut steak, there's mashed potatoes—"

"Give me, mine!" America patted her lap and Maxon wheeled over the little desk that would hang over her bed and hold her tray steady for her.

"The chef also prepared a special strawberry tart, just for you."

"I'm ready!" America licked her lips eagerly.

"I've brought you some ice water." Maxon sat the glass on her desk. "You should stay hydrated, my love."

"Food."

"I'm getting to it." Maxon chuckled. "Here you are." he set a napkin in her lap, then served the dinner to her and kissed her on the forehead. She was already two enormous mouthfuls of salad into her meal. "You must say if you want anything else, right, my love?"

"Right." America nodded, cheeks full.

It was quite the dinner show that America was treated to.

Mary demonstrated the proper way to swaddle the baby in the soft, sweet-scented baby blanket that once had been Maxon's. Then, when she was done, she unwrapped the baby and let Maxon try, gently correcting him when he missed a step. By his third attempt, he was a professional baby-swaddler. He gently tugged a tiny hat onto their tiny baby's tiny head, and then cuddled up with her in the corner.

While America finished her well-earned dinner, Mary showed her the two new garments she was carrying. One was for now, a loose-fitting, low-cut dress made of soft, creamy material that America actually groaned on touching for the first time. It was in lieu of hospital gowns, something comfortable and simple to wear around the family and to sleep in. It even had a few buttons on the front to make breastfeeding easier.

The next was a beautiful, pale blue, long sleeved gown fit for a Queen.

"Mary, it's breathtaking."

"I made it to your measurements before the baby came, but I can already see you're smaller." Mary grinned. "It won't be a difficult adjustment, don't worry."

America sipped her water to clear her throat of the heavenly mashed potatoes she'd been eating. "But… I don't understand, what's it for? I'm not going to the Christmas ball this year."

Mary looked to Maxon, who peeked up from his baby girl, surprised. "Oh… Well, it's… we should talk about this." Maxon sat up straight. "Gavril has reminded me that it is customary for the King and Queen to present their babies to the Kingdom the morning after they're born. All we have to do is go out to the front steps, wave, let them see the baby. I might answer a few questions, or else perhaps read from a prepared statement… I haven't decided yet. You don't have to say a word, Love, you just stand there and hold your daughter."

"Maxon." America frowned, setting aside her utensils and scowling. "I don't want to go out in front of a bunch of cameras the morning after giving birth. I want to sleep and kiss our daughter's face, and then sleep some more."

"I know, my love. It'll only be for a few minutes. Honestly, the people are so excited."

"But Maxon… my whole body hurts." America objected.

"I'll wheel you to the front door myself, my love." Maxon promised. "Please? I know you've already done so much for me, you've given me a family… but Ames, this is a rite of passage for us… my mother did it, and so did my grandmother…"

This had been the right thing to say. If Amberly had done this, and done it well, then America would try her hardest, too.

"Alright." she relented. "But you owe me." she didn't mean it, and Maxon could tell.

He chuckled, "What'll it be?"

America considered it as she continued her dinner. Finally she decided, "You're changing all the diapers tonight, and you're doing at least one of the feedings while I sleep."

Maxon laughed, "How will I feed her, my love? I lack your stunning assets."

America grinned, "Marlee gave me an impressive gift, Maxon, a pump. I can pump milk into a bottle before I sleep and you can use that bottle when the baby gets hungry."

Maxon looked down to the infant in his arms, completely in love. "That sounds wonderful, I shall cherish the opportunity."

America forced herself to roll her eyes at her husband's sappiness, but she knew he genuinely meant it. That was the thing about Maxon, he was so naturally eloquent that he could unintentionally melt a girl's heart without a moment's notice. Her only defense was to pretend to be exasperated, but that only rarely worked. The truth was, Maxon had America totally enraptured, and it would only be a matter of time before he won over their daughter, too.

* * *

The summer shower poured itself out and dissipated as America ate. When she was done with dinner (and the delicious dessert), Maxon left her with the baby and went out to rally the family. Mary cleared away the dishes and then helped America slowly to her feet.

Every muscle in her body was sore, and her whole midsection ached, but her brand new baby was making the cutest little gurgling noises in her hospital bassinet, so the pain hardly bothered America at all.

Mary helped America into the comfortable new dress, and America admired the way her stomach seemed to have deflated since the baby was born. It was like one of Gerad's punctured soccer balls. Mary helped America back into bed and then brushed and knotted her hair back so that it would be out of the way and comfortable for the rest of the night, while still looking nice for the deluge of photographs they both knew Maxon would be taking.

Mary cuddled the baby one more time, then returned her to her mother's arms, and left to tell the family that the Queen and Princess were ready for visitors.

America was expecting the whole family at once, or maybe just May at first, since she did claim the right to hold the baby first. But when the door to the birthing suite opened Maxon appeared with a little red-headed girl on his hip, clinging to him like a baby koala bear. Kenna and James were right behind, hands locked tightly.

"Do you see the baby?" Maxon asked Astra, encouragingly.

Astra scrunched up her nose a little, uncertainly.

"Oh, Ames…" Kenna sobbed, lifting her free hand to cover her mouth. "She's _beautiful_."

"Maxon told you she's a girl?" America guessed.

"Yes, and before that, Dr. Ashlar showed us the framed announcement, right before he went out and posted it."

"The what?"

James laughed, "You're the only person in the entire world who hasn't seen the announcement, Ames. Here." He turned to the television, which had been off ever since the amendment had been formally signed, and pressed the power button. There was a view of the Palace, lit up now because the winter sun had set. And then the frame changed and a view of the Palace steps was shown. At the very front was a long, framed, official document. America struggled to read the words, and she spoke them aloud to make sure she didn't misunderstand one of them. "On this day, the Eleventh of December, at 6:18 pm, Her Majesty Queen America Singer Schreave was delivered of a healthy baby girl weighing seven pounds, four ounces and being eighteen inches in length. The above is so witnessed by…" America blinked at the looping signatures. "Who?"

"Dr. Ashlar, Nurse Catherine, and Stavros." Maxon explained, adjusting Astra on his hip.

"But Stavros didn't witness anything."

Maxon shrugged, "It's more of a ceremonial thing."

America nodded and returned her attention to the television. The evening broadcasters were covering local celebrations throughout all of Illéa, and fantasizing about the royal family's appearance on the steps of the Palace the next morning.

"Um." Astra was pointing now. "That's too small to be my baby cousin." She was worried.

"She's the right size." Maxon promised, carrying Astra over to America's bedside to get a better look. "That whole baby was in Aunt Ames' tummy, can you believe that?"

Astra shook her head. She _didn__'__t_ believe it.

The baby made a grunting, discontent sound, and America instinctively began rocking her just a little. The baby settled down instantly.

"Is she cute, Astra?" Maxon asked.

Astra studied the baby in front of her. "…Yes… She _is _very cute." Astra allowed.

"I think so, too. Would you like to sit by Aunt Ames so that you can see the baby closer?"

"No, I want to stay with you."

"Okay." Maxon nodded, willing to do things at Astra's pace.

"So," America said, looking around the room. "Where's everyone else?"

"They're out there. I managed to convince May to switch places in line with Astra, because Astra is already up past her bedtime." Maxon explained.

The baby cried out once, just once, and then settled.

Kenna chuckled at the identical, bewildered expressions on America's and Astra's faces. "The baby is just testing out her new voice and lungs. Learning how things effect other things. She just learned that if she exhales air like that, a loud sound will happen.

"She is learning?" Astra asked.

"Mhmm."

"Oh, look, Astra." America said, gently. "I think she's going to open her eyes again."

Astra reluctantly agreed, by giving Maxon a little nod, to be deposited on the bed next to America. She peered at the baby in her aunt's lap, cautiously.

Sure enough, the baby's eyes slowly opened to reveal the dark blue eyes underneath.

"Hello, my love." America smiled.

Astra waved.

America giggled, and continued talking to the baby, "Remember your cousin? You used to play lots of games with her."

"Oh, yeah!" Astra remembered, relaxing slightly. "If I put my hand on, you will kick it!"

"That's right. If she put her hand on my tummy, you would kick the spot where you felt her."

The baby yawned, her tiny pink tongue poking out for a moment.

Astra giggled, "She's sleepy."

"Yes. She's had a long day."

"When is that baby's bedtime?" Astra was warming up, getting used to the idea of the baby in her Aunt's lap.

"She's so small, her bedtime is whenever she can sleep." America said. "When she gets bigger, she won't need to sleep so much, but for now, she has a lot of growing to do, so she needs a lot of sleep."

"We can have the same nap time and I can share my blanket with her." Astra offered.

James grinned. He and Kenna were now seated, curled up together, on a little sofa by the far wall. "I think that's a wonderful idea, Bug."

"Yes, I think that sounds great." America nodded.

"Aunt Ames, your belly is still big. You got more babies?"

"Nope, just this one." America said, grinning at her tiny bundle of baby.

"Why is your tummy still big?" Astra asked.

"It's just stretched out." America answered. "It's all stretched from being the baby's home for the last nine months, but it will shrink back down again, now that the baby is out."

"In nine months?" Astra asked, working to make things sensible and balanced.

"I hope so, that would be nice." America nodded.

"Oh, um, Aunt Ames, that baby is a princess?" Astra asked.

"Yes, she is. Just like you."

"Where… um, where is her thing? Her thing that says it?"

It took a moment for the grownups in the room to understand, Maxon got there first, "The thing that says 'This baby is a princess'? Like you got on your birthday?"

"Yeah."

"Well… It's on the Palace steps." Maxon pointed to the screen. "See? Everyone's looking at it right now so they'll know that the new baby princess is born."

"Oh."

That was a good save, America thought. Astra's sign was just a little thing to make her title feel official to her, something Maxon and America had invented for her. The _baby__'__s_ sign was an actual, official historical document.

"Would you like to hold her?" America asked, as the baby's eyes drifted closed again.

"I can?" Astra asked, nervously.

"Of course you can. Get comfortable…"

Astra wiggled in place.

"Make sure to leave this part of your arm under her head, because right now her head is still too heavy for her neck to hold up. She has to exercise, to get stronger."

Astra nodded, and bit her lip, focusing on her task as America gently laid the baby in her arms. America heard several clicks, and glanced up to find Maxon with a camera pointed right at them.

"Wow." Astra breathed, as the baby settled into her arms. "I like her."

"You do?" Maxon asked, happily.

"Yes, she is my favorite." It was quite a turn around from the nervousness Astra had been feeling just a couple of minutes before. Astra lowered her lips to the baby's forehead and pressed a gentle kiss to her brow. "What are her name?"

"We haven't decided what her name is, yet." Maxon said, meeting America's eyes, sharing a smile.

"Her name can be 'Cutie'." Astra suggested.

"Princess Cutie?" Maxon clarified.

"Yes. That looks like her." Astra nodded. Everyone around her laughed, but Astra was being completely sincere. She sighed, contentedly, and leaned against America's side. "I love her."

"I'm so glad." Maxon smiled. "We're going to be spending a lot of time with her, now that she's on our team."

"She's my best new friend." Astra marveled.

"You're going to be such a good big cousin, Astra. You're going to teach her so much." Maxon grinned.

"I can teach her 'ABC' and '123', I can count way high, plus I also know a 'millan'."

"Well, we'll get started tomorrow, once the baby has rested up and gotten her brand new name. What do you think?" Maxon asked.

"I will like that very much." Astra hugged the baby tighter to her chest, and the baby squirmed but did not complain. Astra kissed her little face again.

America brushed a hand through Astra's red hair, "Should we let your mommy and daddy have a turn holding her now? They've been very patient, and you can hold her again tomorrow."

Astra frowned, "I will miss her."

"She won't be far." America promised.

"Okay… but I think that baby likes it when I hold her."

"I think so, too." America nodded. "I think she loves you very much."

Astra whimpered, and a tear slipped down her cheek.

"Are you sad, Astra?" Maxon asked.

"No, Mackin, I'm happy."

America laughed and hugged Astra tightly to her side. "I've cried a lot of happy tears today, too. I know just how you feel."

"I'm glad she came outside today." Astra said. "I'm up after bedtime AND I got extra dessert. Kile's daddy and me and Kile made some cupcakes for you, but you have to wait for tomorrow to eat them because I can't have any more this close to sleeping."

"That was very nice of you, to think of me."

"They will help you feel better tomorrow."

"I can't wait to share some with you." America smiled.

"Here, Daddy, you can hold my sister now." Astra said.

James and Maxon shared a look, "Um, Bug…" James said, standing. "The baby is your _cousin_, not your sister."

"No, I want her to be my sister."

"Sisters have the same mommy and daddy as you have. The baby has a different mommy and daddy, she's your _cousin_." James explained.

Astra pouted and shook her head, looking down at the girl. "No, I love her too much, I can be her sister."

"Well…" Kenna said, "Aunt Ames and Uncle Maxon are technically your godparents, according to our wills… I suppose that could make the baby your god-sister."

Astra bit her lip. "She is. She is my cousin-sister-of-my-heart!"

Maxon tried not to laugh, "How… um, How do you know she's your cousin-sister-of-your-heart?"

"Because I can feel it." Astra said, simply.

Maxon grinned and groaned at the cuteness, sweeping the baby into one arm, and Astra up into the other. "I love you both so much."

"I know." Astra said, and pecked Maxon on the cheek.

"A squillion and five." Maxon grinned.

"That's the biggest number in the world, baby." Astra instructed her new cousin.

"Here you go, James. Meet your brand new niece." Maxon said, handing the baby to James.

Here was another amazing moment. While Maxon, Kenna, and Astra continued chattering, America watched as James carefully cradled the baby in his arms, eyes locked on her tiny face. James cooed and bounced, entertaining the baby, and after a minute, the room fell silent enough to overhear what James was murmuring.

"Hello… I'm your Uncle James… How are you doing, small one? Do you know how much we love you? Do you know that you're going to grow up, big and strong and smart and beautiful, and I'm going to help you learn how to swim and fly a kite and make the best stew in all of Illéa? What's stew, you ask? Well, it's ten times better than milk, I can promise you that. And what's a kite? It's a magical, flying thing that you're going to love. And what's swimming? Only the most fun you can possibly have on a summer night, that's what. You and I are going to be best friends, small one, I can already tell. We're going to have such adventures…" James realized he was being overheard and paused.

Maxon grinned over and squeezed Astra tightly, "Being an uncle to a niece is a wonderful thing."

James nodded, overwhelmed. "I have a sidekick, now. Just like you and Astra."

America and Kenna were trying very hard not to audibly 'Awww' at their husbands and daughters. Kenna climbed into bed with America and hugged her gently.

"Good job." she whispered.

They stayed like that, America and Kenna curled up on the bed, Astra and the baby in their uncles' arms, until another knock came at the door. Mary popped her head inside. "Your Majesty, Adviser Fadaye has asked me to inform you all that the fireworks will be starting soon. You'll have a good view out the windows here, and they'll be televised as well."

Maxon thanked her and she left. "I forgot about the fireworks."

"I didn't." James grinned. "This is the best part about getting a new royal baby."

"Give me this." Maxon said, taking the baby from James, "And tell the others to get in here so they can see."

"Yes, sir." James bowed facetiously, but hurried off to obey. Maxon sat Astra down on the couch and then deposited the baby in Kenna's eager arms, before going to each of the four tall windows in the room and drawing the thick curtains back so that the night outside could be clearly seen.

A moment later, the door opened and James reappeared, along with May, Magda, Gerad, and Marlee. May rushed over to America's bedside and climbed onto the foot of the bed. "Give me!"

Kenna rolled her eyes, "I just got her, May."

"You're her nanny, you're going to get to hold her all the time."

Kenna cast an annoyed look at May, kissed the baby's head, then passed her over to her other aunt.

"Hello, my sunshine!" May cooed, pulling the baby in close. "I've waited a long time for this moment. I'm your Aunt May, I'm the _awesome _aunt… You better not be sleeping through our introduction… Oh, well. You _are _incredibly small, I suppose you need your rest." May paused, then looked up at America. "You did it, Ames. You had a baby."

"I know." America grinned.

"She's so beyond perfect, I can't even stand it. She's stunning_, and_ she's the heir to a great Kingdom, thanks to you."

"Maxon helped." America objected.

May shrugged. "There wouldn't have been anything to help if it wasn't for you. How did you know? How did you know you were having a girl?"

"I didn't. It wasn't about what gender the baby was, for me. When I first brought up the amendment to Maxon, I wasn't even pregnant yet. All I wanted was to make things fair for my children, no matter what order they were born in. If I'd had a boy first, at least his sisters wouldn't be traded to other countries for political alliances. If I had a girl first, she could… inherit the throne, one day." America said, letting her eyes fall to the tiny face emerging from the soft blanket cocoon.

"Well, I still think you're amazing." May said.

"She is." Maxon agreed.

"Maybe you instinctively knew, like you saw the future somehow." May proposed.

America rolled her eyes and cuddled up against Kenna, much too tired for May's exuberance.

Gerad climbed on to the foot of the bed, too, and peered over May's shoulder. "I think she looks like you, Ames."

"Yeah?"

"Will her eyes stay blue?"

"Probably not." Maxon frowned. "Baby's eyes usually get darker over their first six months, as they develop. They almost never get lighter, and the baby's eyes are already too dark to be America's blue. They might be my father's blue, but more likely they're going to be brown, like mine, or possibly the same shade of dark grey as my mother's."

"It would be nice to see Amberly's eyes again." America remarked, and Maxon nodded, solemnly.

Outside, they heard the first pop of a firework in the sky.

Astra gasped and rushed to press her nose against one of the windows. Her father joined her, scooping her up so that they could be cheek-to-cheek. "It's pink!" Astra exclaimed.

Maxon smiled and hurried to America's side. He pressed a kiss to her lips. "Congratulations, Love. The whole world is celebrating the birth of your daughter."

"I'm fairly certain the celebration is because she's _your _daughter, your royal husbandness." America giggled.

"Ah, well." Maxon shrugged. "She's _our _daughter, and the entire nation has tomorrow as a national holiday to celebrate."

"Wow… this _is _like a fairytale." America realized.

"That's right!" James exclaimed, suddenly remembering. "No work tomorrow, baby girl."

"You don't have work tomorrow, Daddy?" Astra grinned.

"Nope. It's a holiday to celebrate your cousin-sister-of-your-heart. "James smirked. The other Singers looked confused at this, but Maxon laughed heartily.

"Good! We will go swimming inside." Astra said. "We can bring the baby."

"Not yet, Pumpkin head." Maxon said. "The baby needs to get a little bigger before we take her to the pool. Her brand new, soft skin isn't ready for chlorine, and her nose wouldn't like the smell, either."

"Oh. Okay, just us then, Daddy."

"Sounds amazing, Astra." James grinned.

The fireworks continued popping over the Palace, most of them visible from America's windows. The television showed a view from the sky, looking down at the Palace as the pink explosions crackled, bright and beautiful, against the black December sky. There was also a view of the streets of Angeles, crowded with cheering revelers.

"It's all for you." May said, to the baby in her arms. "You are a powerful little girl, already."

It was true, America realized. Their baby was set to inherit the throne to one of the world's largest countries, for no reason other than that she was brought into this world as Maxon's daughter, a few hours after Maxon signed a law allowing her to take the throne. If she'd been born a few hours earlier, or to anyone else, she'd have had a normal life. But the sky was lit up pink tonight, and the whole world was cheering for the birth of this baby, and everyone would be watching every single moment of America's daughter's life, putting it all in the context of 'This is the future Queen of Illéa' and 'Is she really good enough to be the future Queen of Illéa?'

Magda blew her nose loudly in the corner. "I remember this day… the last time it happened. I remember the day you were born, Maxon. There were rumors all day long, but no one knew if your mother had truly gone into labor or if it was just hopeful thinking on our part. We were tired of waiting around for you, you were almost a week over your due date. Your mother was on bedrest, so she was probably one who wanted you born more than we did. And then the announcement was posted on the Palace steps. Queen Amberly Station Schreave was delivered of a healthy baby boy… I think we celebrated for a whole week. In my wildest dreams, I never imagined that the next time an announcement like that would be posted on the Palace steps, it would be for my grandchild. My granddaughter…" she sniffled and blew her nose again.

Maxon hugged Magda close, and then stole the baby from May to give to her.

"There she is." Maxon said to Magda, as she cuddled her granddaughter for the first time. "She's going to be smart and strong like her mother and grandmother." he winked.

"She'll be graceful and compassionate like her Grandmother Amberly." Magda said.

"I hope so." Maxon agreed. "I hope I find some of Mother in her, somehow."

"I know you will. She's such a part of you, Maxon," Magda said, seriously. "And you're going to pass that on to your baby. Traits of your mother's that you've inherited might be hard for you to see in yourself, but once you've passed them on and they start appearing in your daughter, you'll see them plain as day. I don't know if that makes sense—"

"It does. Thank you." Maxon smiled.

Magda kissed Maxon's cheek and took the baby to the window to show her the pink sky. After a few more minutes, the show was over. James turned off the television and asked Astra if she wanted to hug anyone goodnight.

In a blatant ploy to avoid bedtime, Astra hugged and kissed every person in the room, including Marlee, and made an enormous show telling each individual person that she would see them in the morning.

"Alright, you little turkey." James laughed, as Astra started trying to go around the room for another round of hugs. "I'm cutting you off. Let's go, we'll all be together again for breakfast in the morning, okay?"

Astra was still calling out 'Goodnight—' when James picked her up, swung her over his shoulder, and carried her giggling body out the door and around the corner, disappearing from sight.

The rest of the family stayed a little longer. Gerad took a turn holding his new niece and May took _another _turn, snuggling the princess closely. Marlee finally got her turn, and cried and cooed, and kissed the baby, remarking that Maxon's Selection had been "totally worth the trouble and pain" now that this baby was born.

America cried again, on hearing those words from Marlee's mouth. No one had suffered more than Marlee and Carter during Maxon's Selection.

Finally, America couldn't contain her yawns anymore. Magda pressed a kiss to America's forehead and then ordered everyone out of the room so that the new mother could get some much-needed sleep.

Before she left, Marlee pointedly pulled a copy of the naming dictionary she and Carter had used to find Kile's name, out of her bag. She placed it at America's bedside without saying a word, then she kissed America and the baby and flounced out of the room.

America sighed, heavily, as silence descended on the room.

"Sleep, Ames."

"I'm not done yet." America said. "I have a present for you."

"I have one for you, too." Maxon grinned. "But you're just _too_ tired, for now. Let's get a little sleep, okay?"

"Mhmm…" America was already drifting off. Maxon flipped the light switch on the wall and cool darkness covered the room. America curled into her soft blankets as Maxon pressed the button that caused her bed to recline. She was asleep before the bed was even flat.

* * *

It was hard to tell how much time had passed before America woke up. She slept hard, deeply, and the next thing she was really aware of, she heard discontent baby sounds, and humming.

Maxon's voice humming.

Maxon's voice humming Shalom Singer's lullaby song.

America blinked her heavy eyelids open and squinted in the darkness to find her husband standing shirtless, with their naked (except for the diaper) baby carefully pressed to his bare, firm chest as he hummed. The baby was oscillating between being soothed and being grumpy, but Maxon just kept humming.

America struggled to sit up, wincing at the soreness in her muscles, and her motion caught Maxon's attention. "I think she's hungry, Love."

"Ah." America tried not to let her eyes linger on Maxon's well-defined abs for longer than was decent, but Maxon still noticed her gaping and grinned at her.

"I pacified her for as long as I could, but there's only so much I can do." he said, bringing the baby over. "I told her an abridged version of our love story, of how you came to my Selection and we fell in love, I tried to set it up as a fairytale, you know, as her first ever bedtime story? But she wouldn't go back to sleep. So then I tried to distract her with your father's song…"

"I'm sorry, Maxon, I fell asleep before I could make you that bottle, didn't I?"

"Not to worry. I'm happy to feed her anytime, not just tonight. Whenever you get around to making bottles, I'll be happy to feed her with them. You've been busy." Maxon smiled. "Here. Do you need Nurse Catherine to help?"

"I don't think so." America said, gingerly unbuttoning the front of her dress. America was grateful, now, that she didn't have to take the whole dress off. The baby latched on almost as soon as America took her from Maxon, and America squirmed uncomfortably as the baby drank, hungrily. She supposed she'd get used to the strange sensation soon enough.

"She kept making this adorable little face." Maxon said. "That's what let me know she was fussy because she was hungry, as opposed to some other reason."

"What little face?"

"See if she'll make it now, if you pull away." Maxon suggested, lifting the bed up so that America could sit back against it. "I won't do it justice if I try to reenact it."

America held the baby out, and the baby complained noisily before turning her head in the direction of America's body and puckering her lips open and closed, trying to suck milk out of thin air.

"Aww, poor baby." America giggled, pulling her close again and returning the flow of nourishment.

"She made that face for about twenty minutes before you woke up. I was trying to buy you a little more time for sleeping, Love."

"Thank you. Did you get any rest?"

"About an hour, and then our baby bird started chirping."

"Chirping?"

"Well, making those baby noises she makes and doing that thing with her mouth that baby birds do to tell their mothers that they're hungry."

America giggled, "She _does_ look like a baby bird when she does that, doesn't she?" America soothingly brushed a knuckle along the baby's face, from cheekbone to jaw, over and over. "Our own little baby bird." They fell into comfortable silence, Maxon crawling into bed with her and almost drifting back to sleep, watching his girls.

"I want an 'A' name for her." Maxon announced.

"Really?"

"Yes, I've been thinking about it, and I want an 'A' name."

"What made you decide that?"

"Talking with your mother about my mother."

"Really?"

"Yes. My mother's name started with an 'A', my grandmother's name started with an 'A', and your name starts with an 'A'. It's a Schreave queen tradition."

"I suppose we could name her after your mother." America said. "I wouldn't mind having a baby Amberly running around the Palace."

"Nor would I." Maxon agreed. "That would be lovely, but I want her to build her own legacy. I don't want her to be tied to my mother's life, as wonderful as it was."

"I think I understand that. You want her to have her own blank space to fill in the history books, rather than being Queen Amberly II of Illéa."

"Exactly."

"Well, get the book and start looking." America nodded to the bedside table, where Marlee had placed the name dictionary.

Maxon wheezed a little laugh and clicked on a soft, yellow lamp before carefully reaching over them for the book. While America fed the baby, he began looking through the 'A' names, and she read over his shoulder.

It took a little while, most of the names just didn't fit the baby in America's arms. Every once in a while, she saw one that was acceptable, she _supposed_. 'Aala' was interesting, and 'Abygail' was nice, 'Acacia' would do in a pinch, and 'Adelyne' was pretty, and enough like 'Adele' to be a good ode to Maxon's aunt.

Then America saw it. She felt a jolt of adrenaline as she read and re-read the name, looked down at the baby in her arms, and then looked back at the name again. She tried looking at the name after it, but no. It wasn't as good. She tried several other names, but none of them fit like that one. None of the others were as right for this Schreave baby.

"I see Aeleshia, that one's alright." Maxon mumbled, unenthusiastically.

"This one." America pointed.

"…That one?"

"Adrienne." America said, looking down at the baby in her arms. "Addy."

Maxon grinned widely, "I… I really like that, Ames." He cleared his throat and read from the book, "The female form of 'Adrian', the ultimate origin of which is likely the ancient Adria river, named in an ancient tongue from the word 'adur' which meant 'water'." Maxon paused and smiled, "Our little water baby?"

America shrugged, "Water does bring new life. And she will be bringing in a new era, as the first woman to sit on the throne of Illéa. …And it was raining when she was born." America smiled.

Maxon closed the book and set it aside. "Adrienne Schreave." Then he considered her, "Adrienne Emlyn Schreave."

"Emlyn?"

"Brave." Maxon said. "Brave and noble warrior, which are two of my many prayers for her. She'll need both bravery and nobility, when she sits on my throne and does battle as I do each day. It can also mean 'work', or 'hard worker', which she will certainly need to be. "

"Emlyn." America tested it out. "That's nice, Maxon. I like it."

"Princess Adrienne Emlyn Schreave, heir to the Throne of Illéa…" Maxon marveled.

America giggled as the baby turned her head, forgetting that that would make the milk stop. Baby Adrienne Emlyn complained with a noise and then puckered up her lips again, opening and closing them impatiently. America assisted the baby by gently guiding her little head back to the milk. "Princess Adrienne Emlyn Schreave, our baby bird."

Maxon chuckled and settled in next to America. "Queen Abby, Queen Amberly, Queen America, and Queen Adrienne." Maxon sighed. "It's perfect."

"And it'll be easy to call us, when you need us. 'Ames and Addy', or 'Ames, Addy, and Astra', sometimes."

Maxon grinned, "So perfect." he remarked, again. He was fading fast. America didn't know what time it was, but she knew he had good reason to be exhausted. Neither of them had gotten much sleep the night before, with the contractions starting in the middle of the night, and he'd signed a lot of important legislation that day, including amending the laws of inheritance, all before coaching her through labor and helping her bring this baby into the world. He needed some rest.

America finished up with the baby, including patting her back, and then gently, slowly stood up and crossed the room, aching. She put the baby down in the bassinet and then pulled the bassinet to their bedside, locking down the wheels so that it would stay still. Then, America carefully crawled back into bed and easily drifted to sleep.

* * *

She woke again before dawn, this time to a terrible smell, a fussy baby, and Maxon's uneasy words.

"You're all clean, don't worry." Maxon assured the baby, who was lying on the changing table across the room. Maxon was trying to wrap up a heavily dirty diaper, whilst clearly unsure where to dispose of it once he had it wrapped up. Baby Adrienne was lying, naked and squirming on the changing table, annoyed at her predicament.

America giggled, "You look so flustered." her voice was hoarse.

Maxon looked back at her, anxiety melting off his face as he took in the gorgeous sight of her. "A bit." he admitted.

"Set the dirty diaper aside and get a new one on the baby first. That way, in case she has any more mess to make, it will stay contained."

"Wise." Maxon nodded, relieved to have orders. He turned to the baby and worked on his new skill of diapering. "Shall I throw on some of this nice smelling powder?"

"Yes, she'll like that. It'll keep the diaper fresh for longer." America smiled. "Not too much."

"Right." Maxon set to work, and soon the baby was wrapped up and returned to the bassinet. "I'll run this horribly smelly thing down the hall, shall I?"

"Look for a small can with a lid." America said. "Small cans get their bags changed more often, and lids keep the smell contained."

"Smart thinking." Maxon agreed, and disappeared out the door. He was back in a matter of moments. "I'm sorry you woke, Love."

"I'm not. That was adorable, Maxon." America smiled and opened her arms toward him. He gently fell into her embrace, as he returned to his place, stretched out on the side of her bed. "You're an excellent daddy for doing that for her. I know she appreciates having a clean diaper."

Maxon nodded against her shoulder, where his face was pressed as he settled in to go back to sleep.

"Max?"

"Hm?"

"What time is it?"

"Oh, about four in the morning. Why?"

"What time are we getting started? With breakfast and the front steps and all of that?"

"Seven or eight." he said, peeking up at her. "Why?"

"Because I need to give you your gift before everyone else gets here… While it's just the three of us."

Maxon grinned, "We can do presents now, if you want."

"You're not too tired?" America asked.

"Not for this." Maxon grinned. "I'm never too tired for presents. Ever."

"Alright."

While America adjusted the bed, Maxon dug through the hospital bag until he pulled out what he was looking for. A small rectangle wrapped in shiny paper. "For you, my love."

America smiled, "Thank you. Yours is in there, too, in the brown paper envelope."

"Really?" Maxon's voice was intrigued, not a clue as to what it could be. He pulled the envelope out and then joined her on the bed. "You first, please."

"Are you sure?"

"You did the hard part." Maxon insisted. "You get your present first."

America smiled and unwrapped the rectangle, letting the paper fall way to reveal a velvet box. "New or heirloom?" America asked, excitedly. Maxon's jewelry presents were always amazing.

"New. Just for you. One day it could become an heirloom, though." Maxon grinned.

America bit her lip excitedly as she lifted the lid to reveal a gorgeous, thin golden chain with a small, delicate teardrop diamond hanging off of it. "Oh, Maxon…"

"It's more elaborate than you're used to, but it's still simple. Still elegant, I think." Maxon said.

"I love it, thank you!"

"The diamond is for Addy. I'm hoping it provides encouragement for you to make lots of babies for me." Maxon chuckled.

"Why?"

"Because each baby gets its own diamond. That's Addy's, but the next baby will have its own, and the one after that, and so on."

"So, if I fill this Palace with children, I'll have a full necklace." America grinned.

"Yes." Maxon laughed. "Something like that."

"It's wonderful… it's so beautiful, Maxon, thank you."

"Not half as wonderful or beautiful as you are, my love." Maxon assured her. "Here, I'll put it on for you."

The necklace hung perfectly against her collarbone, sparkling vividly, even in the dim light. America couldn't wait to see it out in the sunshine, it would be positively radiant.

"Perfect." Maxon declared, kissing the spot of skin next to the little diamond and bringing a flush to the place where his lips touched.

America took a steadying breath, and then pushed the envelope towards him. "I should warn you, what it is. You don't have to open it right now. Whenever you're ready, it'll be here."

Maxon sat upright, seriously. "What is it, Ames? What could require a warning?"

"It's one of your mother's letters to your Aunt Adele. When I first started reading through them, you told me that I could set aside a few for you, for when you were ready to read them, but you didn't think you'd ever be able to go through and read each one. That it would be too painful."

"I remember."

"Well, this is the one she wrote just a few hours after you were born."

Maxon looked down at the brown envelope in his hand, stunned. "Ames—"

"I know. But it's one of my favorites, and if you're feeling up to it, I think you should read it. If not, I have one of Gavril's assistants going into Angeles in the morning to fetch you another small camera like the one that saved your life. That can be your present, and you're to keep it in your breast pocket at all times, like the old one, and let it shield you from bullets and shrapnel and such."

Maxon smiled, ruefully, "We're safe, Ames."

"For now. And maybe forever, but just in case…"

"I understand." Maxon agreed, then returned his attention to the envelope. "Alright." he cleared his throat. "I shall read it aloud."

"Okay." America smiled, leaning over to the bassinet and pulling Adrienne into her arms. "We're listening."

"Dear Adele," Maxon began, shakily. It was already hard on him, just seeing Amberly's handwriting again.

"Maxon, I can read it to you—"

"Not yet." Maxon shook his head. "It's alright, Ames. I'm fine for now."

America smiled and pressed a kiss to Addy's forehead. "Alright."

"_Dear Adele, _

_Things are finally settling down around here after quite a hectic night and morning. I__'__m hoping to have this letter delivered tonight, to hold you over until your visit next week. By now you__'__re more than aware that I went into labor late yesterday afternoon, and almost twenty four hours later, my baby boy was born. _

_Clarkson never left my side for longer than a few minutes, and even then, only to complain to the doctors and nurses on staff that I wasn__'__t being made comfortable enough. He hates seeing me in pain, and I think he was genuinely nervous about my health and that of the baby. As a result, he was rather a grouchy first-time father, but he survived it and so did I. And so did our beautiful baby boy. _

_He__'__s so healthy, Adele! He__'__s passed every test with flying colors! He has the most beautiful head of golden hair I__'__ve ever seen on a newborn, and his eyes are already dark like Mother__'__s. He__'__s not a fussy baby at all, that I__'__ve noticed yet. We__'__ve spent all five of his hours on earth together, and he only cried to let us know he was breathing. Otherwise, so long as he__'__s in my arms, he__'__s a happy boy._"

Maxon paused, clearing his throat of the lump that was beginning to form there. America reached forward with her free hand and placed it on Maxon's knee. "You don't have to—"

"It's beautiful, America. I want to." Maxon reassured her.

America nodded, "Alright. We love you." she said, of Addy and herself.

"I love you, too." Maxon smiled between his girls. "So much." He took a long, deep breath and returned to the letter. There wasn't much left.

"_I__'__ve never felt such a strong, pure, unselfish love before. I love this baby, not because of anything he can do for or with me, not because of any expectation I have of his performance as Prince, not because of anything. I love him with my whole soul, without condition. I pray he continues to grow healthy and strong, and I pray one day he knows this kind of love, as well. _

_We__'__re going to name him __'__Maxon__'__, I think. It means __'__greatest__'__, and I certainly hope that he will be the greatest king that Ill__é__a has ever known. Either way, he is my greatest accomplishment, and he is my greatest love. Of that much, I already know. _

_He__'__s growing fussy in his bassinet now, I believe it__'__s time for another feeding. I can__'__t wait to see you, Adele! I can__'__t wait for you to meet our son, our prince, our little Maxon. We__'__ll have so much to talk about. I know you__'__re also eager, so as soon as he__'__s eaten, I__'__ll have one of the nurses take a photograph of us to include with this letter. I__'__ll send it on to you, hoping it finds you well, happy, and healthy. _

_Love you forever, _

_Amberly.__" _

Maxon tried to casually peek into the empty brown envelope to see if anything else was in there, then looked up at America, a question in his eyes.

"The picture was not included with the letters." America said. "Adele had it framed a long time ago."

"Oh." he was disappointed.

America smiled, "Of course, three months ago, I wrote her, asking for a copy. I told her I wanted to give it to you as a gift once the baby was born. She sent me the original and said that you should have it, and to send her back the copy so that she wouldn't have an empty spot on her mantle."

Maxon's jaw dropped, surprised and eager.

America giggled, "Check the bag."

Maxon dug through the large, overstuffed bag excitedly, until he found another wrapped package. He ripped the paper off with wild abandon, until the photograph beneath was revealed. Amberly, in her own post-birth dress, in the same room he sat in now, propped up against what was very possibly the same bed that he and America were sitting on that very moment. In Amberly's arms, a lump made of the same blanket that was currently bundling sweet Adrienne. But instead of Addy's little face poking out, it was the baby version of Maxon's face. Amberly held him close to her body, but up at an angle so that the camera could capture his expression and golden hair with ease.

Maxon sobbed, happily, choking back tears and running a hand through his mussy hair. "Thank you, Ames."

"You're welcome, my love." America said, gently. Soothingly.

Maxon took a few deep breaths, looking between his mother's signature and the photograph again. "I want to… can we…" he wiped his cheeks, roughly, "I know it's the middle of the night, but can we reenact this photograph quickly? So that I can have a side-by-side version."

"Of course, Maxon. You set everything up, I'm more than happy to pose."

Maxon got the bed to the correct, upright angle, then adjusted the blankets around America and Addy. America mimicked Amberly's pose in the photograph, and Maxon turned on all the lights in the room.

He took a moment to find the exact location where the nurse had been standing, and then adjusted his camera until it was set up the way he wanted it to be. "Hold her a little more towards me." Maxon said, looking through the lens.

America obeyed. "How do I look? Too crazy? I can put on makeup—"

"You look beautiful… and you look just enough like Mother." Maxon smiled, slightly, but he remained focused on his task. He stopped, cleared away the wrapping paper and jewelry box from the shot so that the bed in real life and the bed in the picture were now identical. He returned to the spot where the nurse had stood shortly after his own birth, raised his camera, pulled the scene into focus, and then snapped several pictures while America smiled, proudly. Amberly's smile was the easiest part of the whole photograph to recreate. America felt every bit as proud and in love as Amberly had.

Maxon lowered the camera and checked his work, admiring the finished product. "It's perfect…. I can't believe it… I thought the first pictures of me were from the steps of the Palace, when Mother and Father presented me to the Kingdom. I had no idea…"

"I'm glad you're happy, Maxon."

"And that letter, Ames!"

"I thought you'd like it." America smiled. "I'm so glad I was right. Come back to bed."

Maxon returned the room to darkness and the lowered the bed before sliding in and pressing a kiss, first to America's forehead, then to Addy's. "What a perfect day."

"Absolutely perfect." America agreed. "We did it. We _got our amendment_, Maxon."

"I know. That's still sinking in, I think."

America smiled and set Adrienne back into her bassinet for safe sleeping, then cuddled in to Maxon's chest. "I'm so happy."

"I'm glad. I'm happy, too. Happier than I ever dreamed I could be." Maxon confessed, with a sleepy sigh.

Those were the wonderful words still floating through America's head as she drifted off to sleep again.

* * *

When she awoke three hours later, the baby was ready to eat again, and then ready to be changed again. This time, she changed the diaper, her back ready for a few minutes of standing instead of sitting or laying.

Mary arrived and helped America through a shower with the gentlest detachable shower head America had ever used. America felt heavenly clean as Mary eased her into a comfortable matching set of maternity underwear and then put the soft, post-birth dress back on again. She'd wear it until her hair and makeup were done for the baby's presentation.

When she reemerged from the bathroom with Mary, Maxon slipped in for his own shower and shave, relishing the chance to freshen up. He emerged in a gorgeous suit, unbuttoned at the collar, with no tie. He was a casual daddy-king that day.

He swept his daughter into his arms and kissed her on the nose. "You did so well, letting Mommy and Daddy sleep last night. We only woke up a few times, and never because you were screaming. You just needed some attention, a little food, a fresh diaper, nothing major…"

America smiled from her spot on the edge of the bed, as Mary styled her hair, using enormous hot rollers to get large, soft, natural-looking curls. "I think we'll be alright, as long was we work together and take a few more naps during the day than we're used to."

"Yes," Maxon frowned, considering his workload. "We'll sort it out, somehow."

"Having a night nurse a few times a week will definitely help." America mused.

"We'll have Silvia make that a top priority." Maxon agreed, "But as I said, our sweet baby girl was no trouble at all."

There was a knock at the door and then Paige poked her head in, grinning from ear to ear. She curtseyed from out in the hallway, "Commander Leger is here, as well as his wife, Lady Leger."

"Send them in!" America grinned. "Please!"

Paige nodded eagerly, blowing a kiss to the baby although Maxon pretended to catch it and hoard it for himself.

Aspen and Lucy passed out hugs to the whole room, including Mary. America abandoned her post at the edge of the bed for a moment, to collect Addy from Maxon.

"We weren't sure if you'd be awake yet." Lucy said. "I can't believe you're up and… putting on an official face and everything. You gave birth less than twenty-four hours ago, America!"

"Believe me, I know." America winced, shuffling uncomfortably. "But it won't be a heavy day. Just standing on the steps, right, Maxon?"

"Exactly, and then leaving the hospital wing and returning to the third floor as a family."

Lucy beamed, "I am so happy for you both."

Aspen still wasn't speaking. He was overwhelmed, visibly, and he stood stiffly behind Lucy.

America noticed and smiled, remembering her own ocean of tears at meeting Meri for the first time. "Come here, Aspen." America held out her free hand.

Aspen took it and she tugged him over to the side of the bed. They both perched there, and then she said, "Aspen Leger, this is Adrienne Emlyn Schreave. Addy, this is your Uncle Aspen." America cooed, before passing her over.

Aspen didn't even blink as he gazed down into the baby's beautiful face. "Mer…" he choked out.

"I know, Aspen."

"She's amazing." he managed.

"Isn't she?" America agreed.

Tears leaked down Aspen's cheek, "I'm so happy for you."

"Thanks, Aspen. I can't wait until she and Meri are playing together and growing together. In the scheme of things, they're less than a year apart in age. They're going to be as close as twins."

Aspen pressed a kiss to Addy's forehead, then to America's cheek. "Congratulations, Mer."

"Thanks." America giggled, and pecked him on the cheek, too, before gesturing for Mary to come back over and continue hair and makeup.

Lucy and Aspen didn't stay long, they needed to get back to baby Meri, who was spending the day with Lena, in town. It was one of Aspen's rare days off, so it was important to them, as a family, not to spend too much of it at the Palace.

Maxon took a few pictures, then hugged them both, and then they were gone, just as Mary put the finishing touches on America's outfit.

"Crown again?" America frowned, eyeing the thing in Mary's hands. "That's two days in a row."

"It'll be much better now that you're not in labor, ma'am." Mary smirked.

"I suppose." America allowed.

Maxon pinned his own crown to his head, between making faces to amuse the baby who was incapable of expressing social amusement yet, but whose eyes were staying open for gradually longer periods of time.

Dr. Ashlar poked in, just before America went to put on the gorgeous, special blue dress. "How are you feeling this morning, your Majesty?"

"I'm back to 'your Majesty'?" America asked, disappointed.

"I think so." Dr. Ashlar nodded, and America sighed.

"I'm fine. Still tired, but much better than I was. Sore and achey, but I can tell I'm healing up."

"It will be a process, but I'll be checking on you regularly and I don't anticipate any problems. I know a challenge over the next few weeks will be taking regular baths. You'll be tempted, in the chaos of having a new baby and learning to balance your rolls as wife, mother, and queen, to skip anything that feels too personal or indulgent. It's a perfectly normal inclination, new mother's have hardly a shred of time to themselves, and any time they do get, they feel as if they've stolen from their babies."

"Oh." America frowned, unhappy at this news.

"For your own health, and to stave off infection, do _not _take shortcuts when it comes to baths and showers. Get very, very clean."

"I understand."

"I'll help." Maxon promised. "We'll make sure she has time to relax _and _take care of herself. We want a healthy mommy at all times." Maxon smiled at her.

"Excellent." Dr. Ashlar took Addy and began examining her, testing development of reflexes and dilation of pupils, checking to see if she was generally still responsive. While he did so, he continued to update America on after-care. It was a little frightening, how cautious it seemed like she'd have to be over the next few days and weeks, to make sure she was healing properly. Maxon squeezed her hand and kissed her cheek. She was reminded that she wasn't alone, she had a partner to help her. She felt braver already.

When Dr. Ashlar was done, he cleared both America and Addy to leave the hospital wing for good. America smiled, excitedly, clutching her daughter to her chest. As soon as they were done on the Palace steps, they'd get to go _home, _to the nursery and the family room and their balcony. Home, to the third floor where no one could bother them unless invited.

Not that anyone was bothering them, but just knowing that she was about to take her baby girl to the most private, safest place in the whole Palace was an amazing comfort.

It only took America a minute, with Mary's help, to change into her gorgeous new gown, her stomach already noticeably smaller and less heavy than it had been this time yesterday.

"Alright." America said, holding her arms out for her baby. "Let's go introduce you to your future subjects, my princess." she kissed Addy's oblivious forehead and sat down carefully in a padded wheelchair, allowing Maxon to push her out of the birthing suite.

"See you next time." Maxon bade the room as they left, and America laughed. She needed a good, long break between now and next time.

* * *

America hadn't seen crowds like this since her wedding, and was stunned and a little anxious at the swell of people cheering outside the Palace gates. The press were situated just inside so that they could get proper photographs, but there were hundreds, even thousands of people unaffiliated with the press, who were just there to get their first glimpse of the princess.

Maxon wrapped an arm around the small of America's back, and America pulled Addy in closer as they stepped out the grand entrance to the Palace and onto the steps. The crowd roared its approval.

America and Maxon both waved, smiling as serenely as they could in this den of noise. Addy was untroubled, squirming a little and then settling back into America's arm. After a moment, Maxon led America carefully down a few of the steps to get closer to the people.

"Alright?" he turned to her and asked.

"Yeah, fine." America promised, smiling.

"Good." he grinned, looking down at their baby.

"Should we go talk to the press over there?" America asked, nodding over.

Maxon chuckled and looked between his gorgeous daughter and gorgeous wife. "No, I don't think so. I'm ready to take her to the third floor. I'll make a statement later or something. They'll put lipreaders on this footage, so it's basically like having an interview with us, isn't it?" Maxon winked.

America smiled and nodded, returning her attention to the baby. "She's going to be good at this, I think. She doesn't seem too upset by it, at least."

"She's brave like her mother." Maxon smiled at her.

"Emlyn." America grinned.

Maxon nodded, happily and they continued waving for a little longer. A helicopter flew overhead, getting a shot of the Palace with the royal family on the steps and what felt like the whole world at the gates, cheering.

"Wow." America watched it. "I don't think they did that at our wedding."

"No, they didn't." Maxon agreed. "What do you think, baby bird?" Maxon asked Addy.

Addy lazily smacked her lips.

"Yeah, me, too." Maxon grinned.

America took a deep breath, soaking in this amazing moment. Maxon's and her popularity was at an all-time high, they'd just changed the country for the better with their amendment, and now they'd presented the people with a much-craved Heir. A gorgeous baby girl. Not bad for two days' work.

"Ready?" Maxon asked.

"Yeah. Let's go home." America smiled.

Maxon nodded, and they waved one more time before turning. Maxon kept the hand steadying her back as America very carefully climbed back up the steps. Up was harder than down, America realized, as the pain seared her.

"Take your time. There's no rush." Maxon said, soothingly, but they were already almost to the top. It was a relief when they got to even ground and then turned back, waving, before disappearing into the Palace.

"Alright?" Maxon asked.

"Starving, actually." America giggled. "I'm ready for breakfast."

"We'll eat in our rooms?"

"_Yes.__" _America agreed, emphatically.

Mary joined them inside the Palace to take their crowns, but Maxon had other orders for her. She was to carry the baby up the stairs, while Maxon gently toted America up to the third floor. America was pleased by how well she already fit into his strong arms again, now that her bump was deflating.

When they emerged on the third floor, Maxon returned America to her feet and relieved Mary of the baby, sending America's head-of-household off with their crowns and with an order for enough breakfast for the whole Singer family. They'd be eating in the family room that morning.

Mary curtseyed and left, and Maxon offered America his free arm. "Shall we?" he asked, smiling.

"Yes. Let's go." America was almost giddy.

Maxon led them down the hall to their rooms, waving off a guard and opening the door for America to cross through first.

America took in a deep breath and sighed with relief. She was home. It was a beautiful morning, and she was home. She turned to Maxon excitedly, and Maxon pressed a kiss to her lips, then to the baby's forehead.

"Well, Addy, this is the family room. We're going to spend a lot of time in here. And this," he said, leading the way to the far side, where the door to the nursery stood wide open, "Is your bedroom. Your mommy reorganized this room about thirty times before you were born. She was nesting, you see."

America giggled, "Your father assembled your crib himself… after about three hours of moaning and complaining that it was too hard."

"Alright." Maxon rolled his eyes and America poked her tongue out at him. "As you can see, you're already the most mature person in our family, beautiful baby Addy. My sweet, sweet Addy bird. You have a lot to teach your mother and I, and we can't wait to learn it from you."

America clasped Maxon's hand tightly in her own. "And since you already have your daddy wrapped around your little finger, I think you should demand that he take the week off to spend with us. And maybe take us on a vacation to England in a few months. And tell him that I want a larger share of the national budget for my projects next year. Tell him that, Addy."

"Oh, is that how it's going to be?" Maxon asked. "Playing our daughter against me, using her to get what you want, is that how it's going to be, America?"

"That's exactly how it's going to be, Maxon." America laughed.

"Can you believe this woman, Addy? What have we gotten ourselves into?"

"Do you know what, Maxon?"

"What?"

"You had thirty-four other women to select from. You made your choice, now live with it." America joked.

Maxon laughed and leant over their baby to kiss America's smiling mouth. "With pleasure." he said, before kissing her again.


End file.
